Splintered
by ravengabrielle
Summary: The end of the war left a very different Golden Trio. Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley tough out in the aftermath of family turmoil and the effects of war. They start their lives, in search of a new family and healing for their own wounds. It is unexpected to come from a batch they'd spent most of their lives fighting. (A Dramione Story) MA rating.
1. Chapter 1

**An overflowing desk** full of inquiries and memos sat like an unbelievable initiation, like a joke too impossible to be real. Piled nearly three feet high was a manila colored tower that were owls from outside the Ministry and the three others of the same height were from _inside._ Burns stained the top of the desk, near a discernable ash tray. It reeked of smoke and fire whiskey. An old boy of the place.

In the doorway stood a slender woman of twenty-two with full brown eyes topped with expressive eyebrows for her every emotion so easily read, creamy skin melded into her dense navy-colored suit with two sets of golden buttons down the center. Her shock turned into disgust as she viewed the room longer. The intern nearest, antsy to get a move on, cleared his throat.

"Will that be all, Miss Granger?" He asked pointedly.

Weren't these interns supposed to be frightened? Where was his pity for her?

"What happened in here?" She gushed. "This is unexpectable, inappropriate. Unprofessional! In short, this is a disaster. Unanswered orders…Are these Muggle inquiries? My goodness. They looked months old."

The intern lazily glanced at her. "Uhhh, yeah. Pretty much. Mr. Dokas wasn't one for paperwork. He figured you'd get it all sorted once he left."

"He didn't know he was leaving…" she picked up a lower envelope and opened it, "August 21st?!"

She brimmed with anger as the intern looked down the hall once again at the pretty young witch waiting there. He rolled his eyes. Hermione Granger boiled. She was given an exclusive position after her revolutionary work with the House Elves in Magical Creatures, she was offered the spot of a lifetime after the old (entirely ancient blowhard) department head retired to the tropics.

Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes was a busy place, with lots of moving parts and always dire consequences if the job was mishandled. The Minister believed Hermione was the right person for the job, despite her age and the amount of more senior witches and wizards in employ already in line for the job.

It was a change from the work with House Elves, which she enjoyed but was rather resisted by everyone – including the House Elves. Thankless work. But, with the recent rumblings of families having to pay their domestics left a lot of the oil in government, unmaintained. Hermione was given a position to satisfy the deep pockets which the Ministry relied on.

The fight to the new position was not honorable, to say the least. She ducked her head low when it was mentioned. The Minister spoke with her personally to ensure there would be no more trouble, and that she was greatly needed in the MA&C.

Hermione dismissed the intern with a sigh. It was lunch break. She hoped upon his return he'd be more helpful and perhaps a bit less short otherwise his position was to be reconsidered. It was in her right to find a new assistant, a Department Head and all.

No, that is not fair. He has a job. As do I. I need to make this work.

She fell into the office chair, intent to sort through the crowded desk, but instead, dropped down and fell to the floor as the chair spun and lifted off the floor.

"A hex?" She shrieked. "Damn you Dokas! Haven't you done enough?"

She whipped out her wand and said the counter curse quickly.

The chair dropped to the carpet and exploded a loud cloud of dust. Smokey gray dust filled the office, pushing parchment and memos off the desk and into the air, as her hair was blown back, suit stained with the impossible surrounding color.

Hermione Granger stood stunned, yet again, at what a task her new job turned out to be.

When she strolled in through the Floo to the flat, it was silent. She imagined Ginny would be home from practice by now, but by the looks of it (the apartment being in perfect order) she guessed not. For once, she wished for Ron's awkward habit of making her feel better with an obvious remark like, "Jeesh, Hermione. Don't you know how to shower?" or "Clean out a chimney on your rounds?"

She pushed the thought of her friends from her mind. The stress of the day was too much. What she needed was to unwind in a soothing bubble bath. Hermione dropped her suit in her room and marched into her adjoined bathroom in the nude.

It was freeing to be bare. There were so few moments when she was allowed, since her roommate had a nasty habit of never knocking. It wasn't like she was a nudist, per say, just an enjoyer of the natural state of herself.

An entire wall of the posh loo was a mirror. It reflected the entirety of the goings on. Clear paned glass on the tiled shower, a built-up jacuzzi big enough to seat four comfortably, and a toilet in the corner next to the sink. A skylight above lent down a hazy late afternoon light in golden rays. It turns the pale tiles a beautiful shimmering gold as the spigot poured into the tub.

She caught a side glance at the mirror and frowned at the physique she boasted: too skinny, with small tits and ass, with a flat middle. The gentle slope of her hips to her waist was the only curve she had. She poked her soft flesh. There were bits of scars arounds her belly and chest and back from the war. Those never left.

More so was a scar that was invisible. It rested just below her skin, a naked cover to immense pain. She blinked back tears whenever they came, and they never stopped. She brushed away the few strays that dripped down her chin, and sniffled.

It felt like ages since she'd saw the scar so clearly in her reflection.

The rush of hot water against her flesh awoke her senses, liquified her insides and melted away that sharp stinging pain she felt inside her heart with each pump. Wafts of steam filled her eyes. The small pops of bubbles as they broke against her ice-white flesh in little bombs calmed her racing thoughts.

Stress of the day drained into the water as she dipped deeper. Her mind was still back at that old desk that stank of decades old smoke and liquor. She requested an entire deep clean, magical or otherwise, to rid herself of the reminder of just how demented the man was.

Hermione closed her eyes and listened to the sounds of the water in her ears as she lowered her heart rate. Over the years since the war, she'd found ways to calm herself in a moment, to anchor herself to rational thinking, rather than being over emotional. It helped. She felt power in the control. A high. It kept her aloft in the waves of the unexpected life that she led.

She laid in there a long time thinking of how long it'd been. The itch ascended her legs from her toes and traveled up to the apex of her thighs. The reminder that she missed the pleasures, the carnal overwhelming surrender, the leg-shuddering excitement of intimacy.

There was a sudden rush through her. Nipples poked through the warm water into the pointed cold air, puckered, and made her gasp in pleasure as it rang throughout, tugging tightly at that cord attached to her sex, now flushed with excitement. Her fingers danced over her belly in a sort of teasing dance, reliving every touch, every spark of a moment when she'd been touched, and ignited a need. A burning need.

Her fingers latched onto her pussy and dove deep inside her folds without another thought. She was slick. The slippery wet eased her fingers inside, pushing as deep as she could until she yelped in pain. It wasn't enough. She went faster and faster, aching to remember. The feeling. That feeling of someone buried between her thighs, inside her body, pushing on her spot with lust.

She braced her legs on the sides of the tub and worked her fingers in and out, so muscled and smooth inside herself, slowly to tease herself and when she whimpered with need, they broke inside into a murmuring mind-numbing ecstasy.

Once the wave started to rise, in her stomach like a rumbling tsunami, her fingers withdrew and rubbed wildly on her sensitive nub that pushed through her delicate pink folds of warm flesh and moaned out. Even as she tried to stop, her body wouldn't. The pleasure was too good. She needed it.

Her eyes closed. She remembered a time when a face used to be planted over her thighs, thick tongue out in tease as she writhed underneath him. A dance over her clitoris in a way that only he could. A way that made her eyes roll back, but not wanting to miss a moment of it at the same time.

Eyes. Amber colored eyes looking up, mouth latched onto the delectable goodness that he lapped up eagerly. He wouldn't stop until she'd screamed out, not a moment before.

She moved her fingers quicker, that wave almost over her head, that brilliant burst, as she pictured his lips.

His lips leaned in close to her ear. "I love you, Hermione Granger."

Hermione's back arched as she came, a constant stream of euphoria. She moaned loud, shaking in the memory of him.

When she opened her eyes, there was a dark shadow inside the doorway. She blinked.

Oh my god.

"Hey, Ginny! Your roommate is in here!" The man shouted with a leery smile. "How you doin'?"

Hermione splashed a wave of water. "Get out of here you pervert!"

"Come on now, don't be that way. I was enjoying the show."

Where the hell was Ginny?

She rose out of the water and wrapped a towel around her body. "A huge invasion of my privacy, you scab. Even for you."

The man was none other than Cormac McLaggen. He was a close friend of Ginny, somehow, and never ceased to leer at Hermione every chance he got. He'd seen her naked so many times that it was hardly anything new anymore.

"Thinking of me?" He smiled that hideous smile. "I'll certainly be thinking of you. Later."

She rolled her eyes. "I swear, Cormac. It's like you want 'I'm a perverted wanker' plastered on your gravestone."

"Such a tease."

His hands latched around her waist in a tight grip and held her there until she relented to look at him.

"What is it you were looking for, hm? Might save you some time if you looked in my purse. Steal a few Galleons off me, yeah? Go find an escort to fulfill your sort of sick fantasy. Totally not into you clearly does it for you. I imagine there are a vast many who fill that requirement."

He scoffed and let her go.

She pushed him out toward her bedroom door and screamed, "Ginny, come collect your pervert before I turn him into a rat!"

A redhead appeared out of nowhere. "Come here, pervert. I was looking for you."

Ginny Weasley looked all too well. She was a beautiful woman with bright red hair down to her shoulders, littered with blonde highlights. Now that she made famous Quidditch Player money, she kept herself up. The girl worked out, jogged, had lots of sex to keep her body limber.

The war changed many things including Harry Potter. One of the ways he changed was by leaving Ginny high and dry with literally no interest. He couldn't help it, it wasn't his fault, but he didn't handle it well either. It put strain on everyone.

Ginny, too.

Hermione sighed heavily. "Can't you put a leash on him? What if he has an accident in here and piddles on the floor?"

Her roommate laughed a good laugh and pulled on Cormac's arm, away from Hermione. It was a safe bet that she'd hex him soon. And if she hexed him, his dick wouldn't work for Ginny's workout.

"A leash?" Ginny toyed. "Now that's an idea."

The two of the sex addicts shared an intense moment of eye contact before kissing with a fury. They started to rip at each other's shirts, leaving Ginny's an unsalvageable mess, and Hermione completely frustrated.

"Get a room!" She groaned.

The slam of her bedroom door wasn't enough to keep them away from each other or the fact that Ginny hadn't put up her silencing charms so the entire night, she heard the disturbed grunting of Cormac as he plowed his way through Ginny like a job to be done, a person to be used, as Ginny did the same thing.

Both thrived under the idea that they weren't attached to the other. Casual as possible. Which is why Cormac tried to pursue Hermione with a similar interest that almost clouded his attraction to Ginny, for a second. Or perhaps, he pictured her as he did it to her best friend.

Really, she wasn't sure, but she was certain that she didn't want to know what Cormac pictured as he came.


	2. Chapter 2

" **I'm going out** with some friends this weekend," Ginny mentioned casually the next night over supper. "I think you should come."

They'd baked a mince pie with fluffy mashed potatoes and roasted squash. It was a ritual meal. They both ate it when they needed to remember the good days at Hogwarts before shit turned ugly. Hermione was the one who needed it since the office was still a mess, and her new coworkers weren't so keen to welcoming her.

She was lucky the MA&C ran so smoothly without constant supervision since she was about five months behind in paperwork the office greatly needed. It was a travesty how bad it was.

It was close to eight. She ached from a day bent over papers. It was nice to work with House Elves. The interviews were often at their places of employment, which gave her some time outside of a windowless office. Now, all she did was work and come home to sleep and pray Cormac wasn't lurking.

Hermione sipped from a glass of white wine. It gently bubbled against her tongue.

"Oh. No, thank you," she said.

"Come on. You never do anything," Ginny whined. "We used to go have fun. You used to be fun, adventurous."

Hermione lifted a brow.

Ginny shrugged. "Relatively. Remember when we had a broom race over to France at like three in the morning after drinking fire whiskey all day?"

"You dropped me into the channel!"

"Yeah, but we still won, didn't we?" Ginny paused. "And wasn't it fun? Fun that you look back on and smile, or laugh. When was the last time you did anything that remotely made you smile?"

Hermione started to answer but Ginny raised a finger.

"Without someone who was a House Elf," she added.

That was tough. There was no answer she could give.

Ginny watched her in the silence, awaiting an answer she already knew. They'd known each other too long for all the pretense that there was a happy time the other wasn't present for.

"That's what I thought," she finally said. "Come out on Saturday. It'll be fun."

"I don't know, Gin. I'm really swamped at work. I don't want to be fighting off a hangover while dealing with all that paperwork."

Another round of wine was poured into their flutes and they moved into the kitchen, done with their meal. They waved their wands to clean up the mess, putting everything back in place and clean, and moved into their living room.

It was a gray room with dark wood accents, a champagne gold and lilac decorated the space. There was a Muggle TV since Hermione refused to leave the flat for any kind of entertainment. One entire corner of the space was dedicated to books as a reading corner, for Hermione's personal amusement again. The building they lived in was close to a Muggle gym that Ginny used, and a place where she could easily Apparate to practice. It suited them best.

Their modern lifestyle was often off putting to the rest of the magical community who were used to their dated sense of living, magic as their main source of anything. Ginny and Hermione were modern women. They embraced both worlds, though awkward for Ginny at first since she had no experience. However, the time they spent with Hermione's parents aided her into understanding more of their world and embracing it as a good way to live with their magic rather than either or.

Ginny's family was not so impressed with the decision. It was hard enough to be apart after… _his_ death and now, Ginny was leaving their world behind or so they felt. Things with the Weasley's were tense.

Ron and George tried to be supportive, but they were left battling with their own siblings and family. It hurt. It hurt Ginny the most, but with everything to remind her of Harry, she was left feeling a visitor inside her own life, her family.

"Hermione, I've been meaning to talk to you about something," Ginny said, "and I think it's the time."

Hermione playfully smacked her arm. "Gin. You can always talk to me, you know that."

"Well, it's just been hard to since… the Battle of Hogwarts. Since him. At first it was okay because it felt like you were dealing, moving on, and helping me through everything. But now."

"Now?" Hermione asked.

Ginny shifted in her seat. "You're not yourself. You stay inside, avoid everybody, just work yourself to death like a punishment. Like you want to punish yourself for everything. I get why you can't be around my family, believe me I get it, but now you don't want to be around life."

"Work is my life, Ginny. I can't just abandon it."

"No, that's just it. Work isn't your life. It isn't you. You like things. You like to explore and learn, and see, and talk to people, and outwit everybody. Our friends from the old days ask about you and the only thing I can say is that you've got a new job, or you were behind that House Elves bill. That's it!"

Hermione took a long gulp of wine. It tasted so beautiful. The heavy weight of their meal settled against her tongue, and the wine lightly brushed it away.

It tasted of momentary sadness. She remembered. Their lives during the war, before the war, all of it. The very ruin of her existence was those memories that kept her up at night, ached her very soul.

"I just, can't see our old friends. It reminds me so much," Hermione answered softly, almost a whimper. "Their faces make me think about it all, how much I've lost, and I just can't. It unravels me every time."

Ginny set down her flute against the coffee table, sure to avoid the most recent Witch Weekly, and rubbed her hand against Hermione's back with a sad smile. "You need to let yourself be happy. It isn't doing you any good like this. Besides, you don't just have a set number of friends. New friends. New adult friends. They're the best! That's why I invited you. They aren't old friends. It's a completely friendless night out with some people I currently hang out with and really, really want you to be a part of."

It sounded suspicious. "Cormac isn't apart of them, is he?"

Ginny laughed. Her red hair fell from behind her ear and brushed across her face. Hermione froze in a memory that clouded her eyes with tears. She quickly pushed them back so Ginny didn't see.

"No, the pervert won't be there. This isn't exactly his crowd."

She perked up at the news. No Cormac's crowd? That sounded promising.

"A crowd that wouldn't accept Cormac sounds like a great bunch." She smiled.

Friends. How much she'd like some. Without Ron and Harry, it hurt her everyday to know they weren't part of each other's lives anymore. There was a great void. That's what made her aching and remembering get worse. The loss of everything, everyone was so great.

Ginny eyed her closely. "They are, if you've got an open mind. A bit rowdy. Cormac hates them, actually, Put him in his place like the first second he showed up and now he refuses to be around them, won't even come around me if I've been hanging with them. Such a prissy. Says I smell like them. Ha!"

The way her best friend laughed it made Hermione feel…safe. A bit happy. Life was so hectic, especially since the war ended, and there was hardly time to relax and connect. She didn't know why. It happened so easily. The war changed Ginny into a mature woman, so strong, understanding and relatable, but home.

She was home.

And, for one thing, Ginny was a smart woman in advice. Taking it? No. But giving it, she was excellent. She was the best at getting some turned around. Perhaps it was time that Hermione turned around.

"Say you'll come," she pleaded. "I've told them all you're going to. They're curious about you, you know. Plus, they're a great hang."

Hermione swallowed. "They want to hang out with me?"

"Of course, they do. Why wouldn't they?"

"I'm a government official. The official buzz kill."

The wine refilled in their empty glasses. Heads, yet to swim with the lovely feeling of a buzz.

"You don't mean that, love." Ginny squeezed her knee for reassurance.

There was a flicker of sadness in her eyes. She watched it curled back behind. God, she looked so much like her brother.

"It's true."

Hermione frowned.

"You're awesome. Hermione fucking Granger. That girl is the farthest thing from a buzz kill," Ginny said proudly. "You're my best friend. How could you say you're a buzz kill? I would never let you be one of those, even if you were, but you aren't. You kicked Voldemort's ass. You took him to the grave, all the men and shitty people who wanted to kill the world. You did that!"

"Harry did that," Hermione said.

"Like he would have ever made it without you. You were the brains. You kept those two boys together, kept their heads on straight. Don't ever undervalue yourself like that. Don't measure yourself to that shit. That's going to keep you down. No, you've got to stand up. Take credit for who you are. Hermione Granger, bad ass bitch who took down Death Eaters and freed the House Elves from slavery."

The rest of the night was in quiet remembrance of how awesome they'd been back when their wands were used for more deadly things than _accio_. The bottle was gone by the end of the night. Not that they felt it. Hermione wished she could feel it. It would have made the rest of the night better, when she laid in bed and thought of the days past that left her an empty shell.

But there was a small piece of hope. Not that big. She didn't hold out that new friends would pan out; she didn't voice how doubtful she was. There was no way she was missing the chance. The chance to change herself, get out of the rut she'd found herself in without even realizing.

Five years. It was five years when things ended. The war. The battle. Their friendship. The love.

Five years since Harry went all batshit, and Ron was glued to his side for support like a mindless drone. Five years since her beloved, the one she was meant to be with forever, the one she pictured a future with and babies, the one, the one, the one gone from her life without a shred of anything.

Hermione fell into a listless sleep of red headed babies all filled with laughter, running around a beautiful open field of cordgrass. She dreamed of their beautiful smiles and tall man hoisting them high into the air with a trick or two to make them believe they flew.

She marched into the office that day with determination. Two days. It was two days until she made some new friends, and there was much to work on before then.

"Morning," her assistant greeted her, not even looking up from his work.

Already, she was bothered.

"Good morning, Mark." She handed over her cloak. "What is on my agenda for today?"

A big book slammed against the desk. Mark took his time to find the date, running his finger down a list.

"Uh, briefings. Briefings. The committee of Muggle excuses is meeting. You don't have to be present but - ."

"Of course, I'll be in attendance. I'd like to stay updated when anything like that meets in this department," Hermione stated with as much firmest as she could muster without yelling. "I'd like progress reports all on my desk in the morning before I arrive, most urgent on top. My schedule should be read to me at the start of each day. Each supervisor needs to give me daily updates, meeting once per week."

Mark looked up from his desk. The sigh he expelled made Hermione want to raise her hand to slap him.

Instead, she waved him off to gather the required reports and entered her office. It still stank of smoke. Cleaning crew wouldn't be able to get inside until the weekend. She couldn't wait. Cigarette smoke tainted her hair with an odd smell. It made her gag.

The day passed with many interruptions. Supervisors met with Hermione in regards to their prospective duties, and their attitudes were entirely wrong. All were men old enough to be her father with a shitty disposition toward her seniority over them. Only one seemed to be slightly non-offensive.

The push and pull of the government bullshit continued the entire week, leaving her wiped by the time Friday rolled around. When she came into the flat and plopped onto the couch, most of her mind was numb to pretty much everything. She didn't notice the sound of Ginny's rising voice coming from her bedroom until it slapped her in the face.

"I can't believe you!" She screamed. "How can you even say that to me?"

"Well you've got to come around sometime. We're your family. Can't ignore us forever, can you?" The voice yelled back. She recognized it as Ron's. It stirred her deeply and made her ache.

She froze on the couch, unable to move. Ron was here. It was like a blast up from inside her soul, a mind shattering memory. No, there was nowhere to go.

There was a strong slam, the bathroom door of Ginny's room most likely. It frightened Hermione even more than Ron's voice. Ginny wasn't over emotional unless it came to one thing.

Oh, this was not good.

"You all worship him. I'm not even a welcome party at my own family home, by my own brothers because you're all so hung up on Harry!"

Ginny was angry. In a rage, by the breaking of her voice.

"We owe it to him," Ron said. "He did save us. The entire world. You remember, that don't you?"

There was a groan of frustration. "That was years ago. We're all moving past that. Not hung up on that savior complexion you all have, up his goddamn ass. He used me, made me a mess and you all wanted me to beg for his forgiveness when he was the one in the wrong. He was the one that ruined me. And you still worship the ground he walks on! You're my family, my older brother. Everything was taken away from me because of that man."

Ron sharply exhaled. "You're stubborn, Ginny. So stubborn. You're tearing the family apart. Mum's out of sorts with all this. Breaks her heart every time we come knowing you aren't walking through that door."

"You know my terms," she said stiffly. "I won't be there when he's there. I won't be the sacrifice for you to all remain in the good graces."

"The war messed him up, Ginny. It's war."

Hermione remained still. She wished they'd stop. Stop all of it.

She pushed her fingers against her temples, pushing out their noise, all the memories. Make it stop.

"No. Don't you do that. Don't use that excuse. War fucked us all up. Hermione is fucked up. Actually. She's the one who needed your support, not Harry. Harry made his mistakes, and you guys chose him. Him over me _and_ her."

Suddenly her bedroom door swung open. Both figures came bursting out, red hair a blur. Ginny followed Ron's heels, cherry red face. Her freckles almost glowed in anger.

They walked into the living room, dropping their guard the moment they saw the petrified form of Hermione slumped on the couch. Their faces turned from fury to shame. Ginny tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Hey, love. I didn't hear you come home," she said.

Ginny and Ron shared a worried look. Hermione didn't respond. She was frozen to the couch, trapped by the panic of their voices, their words.

Ron shoved his hands down into his jean pockets. "We didn't bother you, Mione, did we?"

"No," Hermione snipped. "No. Not at all."

Ginny looked down with uncertainty that only a sister, a best friend, would understand. "We didn't mean to be overheard. Ron just sort of barged in."

"I didn't barge."

"You weren't invited," his sister hissed. "This is our home. Our life. You can't do this to us."

Ron looked conflicted. He wanted to respond, mouth open and all, but stared down at his friend and the torture upon her face. It was an obvious turmoil under his skin.

He'd aged since the war. The lines in the corners of his eyes made him look older than twenty-two. Years of stress, especially since Harry's breakdown, added up against him in a harsh light. The way he looked was the tired expression of a man past his prime, in a wonder at when the world would just stop.

Hermione missed that carefree man she'd grown up with. He was the happy one. So positive.

He was a shell. They all were at this point.

"We want you back, both of you." It was soft but firm. They knew who it came from, and how much of a request it wasn't.

Ginny reared her head like a mini-Molly, but Hermione dared not mention it.

"This isn't up for discussion, Ron."

Ron glanced down at Hermione. "Come home. Please. We aren't whole, and neither are you guys."

In a sudden flush of motion, Ginny latched onto his arm with her lengthy fingers and gripped until his flesh turned red. She yanked him away talking in hushed tones, though easy for Hermione to hear. At least she tried to be private.

"I'm not going to stand by and let you manipulate her like that. She isn't a toy for you or for Mum." It was spoken through gritted teeth. "She's worked so hard to get this far. It's not your place to come and wreck that all because you can't stand by your choices."

"Yeah, but it wasn't her choice. She's got different reasons than you, don't she?"

Ginny kept her clasp on him. "Don't you fucking dare."

"It's selfish of you, Ginny. She needs her family."

"Don't you see her over there?" She pointed her finger at the couch. "She is like this because you're here. You're reminding her of everything, Harry included. You smug bastard. It's all of you."

Hermione felt a sudden rush of slick in her mouth and dashed out of the room to make it in time to the toilet, just as the heated spew came out. It hunched her body over in waves of strength like dark magic. She was a prisoner to its power as it surged out like Voldemort's very revenge of pure liquid evil heat.

Time was lost to her. She focused on the awfulness that fell out of her, the darkness buried inside as it came out. It wasn't until that Ginny came up from behind her and grabbed her hair that she felt a warmth. Her fingers brushed the back of her neck, rubbing gently and whispering her soft words.

"I'm sorry. So, so sorry. Just let it all out."

Her hum was beautiful. It sounded like the very sound of calm.

Tears stung her eyes. Hermione loved her so much. The fierce lioness of Gryffindor. Everyone made it seem like it was Hermione who hailed the very nature of the Hogwarts House, but it wasn't. Ginny was the lioness. The most important person in the world.

Ginny wet a rag. She pressed it against Hermione's temples as she pushed away from the porcelain.

After she regained herself, they made their way to her bed. Ginny climbed in alongside her and fluffed up their pillows and put in their favorite movie. Neither left the bed. They accioed their popcorn and cups of tea.

Neither spoke much. The night ruined by the sudden exposure of Ron and the family business. It was difficult to find the motivation to breach the topics yet again, as both girls were drained by the interaction all together.

Ginny and Hermione snuggled up together, their sleep deeper when each felt the other there.

The presence of a heartbeat, a living breath so close when they both inevitably awoke from their own personal nightmare comforted the two. Hermione drifted off easily once she heard the gentle sighs that came from her friend's nose as she slept. It was a white noise. It lulled her back to slumber. A time later came for Ginny to awaken with a start, causing Hermione to stir lightly in bed, and lifted the veil of the nightmare just as quick.

Each night was a fight for a bit of rest from the eternal nightmare that Voldemort had created.


	3. Chapter 3

**AUTHORS NOTE: I know I've gotten a pretty hateful review that I'd like to address here to make my feelings known. This story is not to glorify the Slytherins or bash Harry Potter. This story is about two women dealing with the ravages of war, what they had lost, grief and the dealings with their** _ **OWN**_ **healing. Harry does come into play later in the story. But this is meant to be a look at what trauma does to a person and how they overcome or succumb to it.**

 **If you enjoy the story, thank you and I hope this next chapter makes you excited.**

" **This is what** I should wear?" Hermione looked down with doubt. "Are you sure?"

Ginny groaned for the fifth time. "Love, trust me. This is fashion. This fits your body purr-fectly."

A full-size body suit – called a jumper in America – entirely in black. Floral designs cut through black mesh covered the upper bodice only covering her nipples with the design while the rest of her flesh was exposed through the mesh. Ginny gave her pumps of crimson red and matched her lipstick in the same shade.

Hermione blushed as she saw herself, a top bun atop her head and black dangle earrings. She embodied a sex goddess. Something she wasn't afraid to admit.

"Trying to distract from the fact that I'm a buzzkill, Gin?"

Her friend rolled her eyes. "Don't be ridiculous. You look sexy. You feel confident, right? That means it's going to be a good night. We both need one. Need to start fresh, get on with things, find love."

"What, the pervert isn't your true love?"

"Oh, Merlin. Don't remind me," she said. "You should have seen this latest meltdown. I don't think he'll be back."

Hermione sighed in relief. "Oh, merciful heaven, thank God."

"He isn't that bad."

There was a half-used bottle of perfume somewhere. She'd used it a few months ago for a blind date. Where did it go? She shuffled through her cabinet.

"Cormac McLaggen is the absolute worst of the worst. I get the feeling he'd rape me if he ever stayed over," Hermione said. "I'm glad you're done with him."

"I guess he does give off that kind of vibe with you…"

Ginny nibbled her bottom lip. It'd been a while since she'd done that. Hermione wasn't sure if it was right time but there was no other better opportunity to make her friend break free of her unhealthy coping mechanism.

"Look, Gin, I know I'm not the one to be offering advice. Just hear me out, yeah?"

Ginny nodded.

Hermione smiled soft. She didn't deserve Ginny in so many ways.

"It isn't right for you to be, I don't know, shagging every guy who looks your way. Doesn't seem healthy. You are worth more, a lot more, than Cormac or any of those cheap boys down at the pubs." Hermione spritzed the perfume on her neck. "If I have to come out and make friends, you should have to realize that you need to close your legs and built up a bit of intimacy."

"Damn, girl. Shots fired." Ginny brushed off the seriousness, but something sounded sincere. A look crossed her eyes with a bit of softness. "I know it isn't right. I hate that I do it, but I can't help myself."

Hermione gripped the girl's shoulders. "We both have to try. Try."

They headed out the front of their building and off to the Muggle pub where Ginny's friends said they'd meet. It was a few blocks away from the flat, in the heart of swinging London. The streets were busy. They had to push their way through some of the sidewalks, catching the momentary eye of a witch or wizard in disguise as a Muggle.

The other looks came because they were dressed in their best, sexy and confident. Hermione captured a lot more attention than she usually did. It gave her a bright rush to her head.

Ginny wore a pair of low rider jeans, fishnet stockings pulled up to her waist shown only through the big rips of her jeans completed with a lime green stretchy crop top. The look was perfect with her pigtails off the sides of her head.

She glowed in the late-night light of the city. The city buzzed with excitement, Hermione along with it. The very pulse inside her chest became the beat in which London moved. Throbbing, beating, breathing, pulsating. It awakened a sense she hadn't felt in a while.

Ginny lead the way down a darkened alley. An open doorway cut through the utter black of the wall. It hummed with music. Bass rattled bits of stone down from the walls. Hermione brushed off the dust.

They slipped inside. Ginny greeted the staff like close friends as they wove through the back of the pub.

Why she always insisted on the employee entrance, Hermione never knew.

Hermione kept the redhead as her guide through the dim lights as the pub exposed from the white of the kitchens. It was dimly lit, wide open with a loft for more seating. Patrons were filled in, but not too unpleasantly. Everything was wood. Wood fixtures, walls, floors, tables. It was a grayish maple.

As they stepped out from behind the bar, Ginny squinted her eyes as she searched the crowd. It took a while. Hermione didn't recognize any one, but her friend did. She latched onto Hermione's wrist and dragged her over to a table in the corner of the room.

She froze as she stood near. Ginny wasn't bothered. She slid right into a nearby chair, slapping someone on the back.

"On time for once?" She teased.

The person shrugged her off. "I am never late. I arrive when I'm ready, not a moment sooner."

Ginny laughed, a happy sparkle to her eye. Hermione stared blankly. What was going on?

Her friend caught her gaze. "Go on, they won't bite."

All faces of the table turned to face her. A heat rushed to her cheeks, barely visible under the light.

There at the table sat a den of snakes. Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, Theo Nott. The last face was none other than Draco Malfoy. His cool gray gaze widened as he drank her in, not failing to miss a single part of her. She felt the very exposed.

She took her place alongside Blaise, Ginny on his other side at the table.

"Evening, Granger." Blaise lifted his glass. "Haven't seen you in a long while."

"Haven't been out in a while," she replied with a soft smile.

Ginny had said they weren't old _friends._ Technically she wasn't wrong. Their faces didn't stir a reminder of much else except their petty childhood rivalries. The only one she felt mildly annoyed with was Malfoy, particularly the way he stared at her. He nursed his drink now. Fire whiskey, by the smell of it.

"What can I get you, love?" Ginny raised from her seat. "I'll get drinks tonight."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She shoved a bill into her friend's back pocket. "White wine. If they don't have it, champagne."

Ginny snorted. "Really? In a pub?"

Suddenly Blaise was near them both, his face just behind Hermione's shoulder. "I can suggest something smooth, if that's what you're wanting."

It was surprisingly nice of him, for a Slytherin.

"I just don't like a strong burn. Bit too harsh for me."

His brown eyes smiled. "Cornish cider. You'll like it."

"Ooh." The voice came from Daphne at the other end of the table. She leaned over listening closely. "The cider here is amazing. Gin, get me one too."

Gin? They knew each other enough to use her nickname?

The redhead bobbed off through the crowd, leaving Hermione alone at the table with the other Slytherins, all of the same year, but not of the same circle. The tension wasn't what she thought it would be. It was awkward because of the silence. None of them knew what to say.

Malfoy kept his eyes to his drink, not daring to glance again. Her skin prickled with insecurity. The bodysuit was too much. She guessed as much but she'd been so in love with how she looked, she hadn't thought to take it off. Now, she kicked herself for looking a fool in front of the one person she knew wouldn't let her live it down.

Theo was texting on his phone, rather surprising for a wizard, especially a pureblood.

Daphne offered a smile from across the table. She looked so beautiful, a pale blonde hair with perfect complexion. There was a natural quality to it. Makeup wasn't caked upon her face like most other girls in the pub. She boasted a clean, carefree look about her. They'd never talked in school but the way she seemed to polite, Hermione wished they had.

"So, I hear you're in Magical Accidents and Catastrophes." Blaise leaned over, making it easier to hear him over the noise. "Finally got that old cat Dokas out of there, huh?"

She took the olive branch, ready to shed the tension. "Not that he didn't get his final revenge."

"What'd he do?" She heard Daphne once more. The poor girl leaned against the table again, straining to hear.

Hermione glanced down at Ginny's chair. It would be easy to answer without yelling over the pub. Muggles were everywhere. She stood suddenly, causing Malfoy to jump to his feet out of his seat.

She eyed him carefully, unsure how to gauge the reaction. He looked startled, but he hadn't reached for his wand (no doubt hidden below his belt) so she was surprisingly unthreatened. Theo looked up at him with confusion.

Malfoy glanced back down at the table while his friends stared.

"Another?" He asked, downing the rest of his whiskey.

He stalked off before another could answer. It was very unlike him. Even in school, he wasn't easily flustered. Calm and cool. Hermione sat down carefully, not wanting to upset the other temper of the Slytherins. A Gryffindor was new territory for them, she knew. Maybe they thought her bigoted against them.

The war left most of them ostracized. The purebloods closed ranks, only associating with those in similar situations. Malfoy was the most publicized of the group. She'd testified at his hearings after the war, but it hadn't help sway public opinion. He was condemned. It was almost worst for the purebloods. She imagined with them in their closed ranks, they felt very much like outsiders again.

There was bitterness, but not so much to their cause. It was polluted by the roles of the Death Eaters and even Voldemort himself. He didn't want a clean, Muggle free world. He wanted to rule the world. Pureblood elites were the means to an end. His end.

After everything she suffered through for their lack of sound judgement, Hermione knew just how both sides were damaged. No one was whole. The people at the table with her were just as tortured by the things they'd seen, perhaps not to the extent she was. Malfoy was the only one else who knew. He saw it. He lived it same as she did.

She took Ginny's old position. Daphne smiled and reached her hands out.

"Thanks for coming out, by the way. Ginny says you needed to have some fun," she said.

"Yeah, thanks Granger. We all love a good time," Blaise added.

His smile was so kind, although she sensed some deviousness below the surface. A troublemaker. She could spot those a mile away with her experience.

He knew something.

She played innocent. "Oh, Gin's all talk. She's the life of the party."

"Not how we hear it," he said. A glimmer in his eye.

Oh, he knew something. Ginny's big mouth got to his ear first.

Daphne chuckled softly. "Ignore him. He's just trying to embarrass you. It's his one joy in life. All you got to do in ask him if he's gained weight and he'll stop."

"Why, do you think I've gotten fat?"

Its effect was immediate. He prodded the flesh of his face. Daphne smirked as he asked her if it looked larger to her.

"Blimey, who got Blaise started?"

Ginny stood with a mug of ale and two ciders. Malfoy stood near, taking in the scene before him.

Dressed in jeans and a Muggle tee, Malfoy looked very much unlike himself. He wore a black jacket overtop, hand crafted and expensive, but incredibly fashionable in the Muggle fashion. It hugged his frame tightly. The broad expanse of his chest had grown since she'd seen him last.

He set his whiskey down to the table and supplied another glass from his hand. It was a flute filled with a light colored and bubbling. He scooted it in front of Hermione without a glance.

"What's this?" She questioned with surprise.

"Champagne," he answered.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Blaise chuckled. "Always the show off, aren't you? He just had to make a point that he can get anything, anywhere."

"No surprise there," Theo said with a smirk. It twisted his lanky face in a pleasant way, albeit not entirely attractive with the crooked spread of teeth.

Ginny handed her the cider, sliding another Daphne. "In case you decide not to be a snob in a pub."

"Rich coming from the girl who once refused to shake a guy's hand because he ate crisps."

"They weren't crisps. Damn Cheeto dust." She was bothered but in a lighthearted way. It was joy. Neither had felt that way in a while. "Besides, he had a wart."

Hermione snorted. "Does that refer to his face to the fact his dick was too small."

There was a rise out of the Slytherins. They chuckled, even Malfoy though he swallowed it back. Blaise enjoyed it. His smile grew broadly.

"Knew she was a good hang." It was a tone of triumph. "And you thought she'd be uncomfortable."

It was a clear pointed remark to Malfoy. His blonde hair parted as his fingers smoothed it back, ran through like a comb.

"Slytherins and Gryffindors aren't known for getting along," was the answer he gave.

This was her chance. Close that chapter for good.

"Can't stand many Gryffindors these days so perhaps a change in houses isn't so bad. Even if it is with Slytherins."

It sounded way cooler than she was. She leaned back in her chair, quaking from the boldness against Malfoy, but the false confidence wasn't going to be broken. These friends. She needed them. More so, she promised Ginny to try.

The look on his face was stunned, only for a moment before he reigned it back. She watched it slide back inside him with ease.

Daphne chortled by his side. "I like her already."

"Now, now. Don't go rushing things, Daph. She's got to pass the test." Blaise raised his hand, cool and collected with each word.

Malfoy raised his gaze with a snap. "What? No."

Theo shoved his friend's side. "Lighten up. It'll be fun."

"What, can't hang with a girl who might outwit you, Malfoy?"

She expected him to get riled. His friends certainly did. They giggled and laughed, at his expense. Quite the opposite happened. He leaned back in his chair, finally daring to look at her.

"Just remember, I tried to stop it."

It was all he said.

Blaise whooped with glee. "So it begins. Now the rules are simple. Must be honest. You don't befriend Slytherins without using a secret as your entrance fee. You gotta drain your glass and say your secret."

Coy. The alcohol would loosen her lips in a rush, bound to reveal more than she expected. It was very cunning. Hermione was impressed. She glanced at Ginny with a questioning look. Her friend shrugged. It was no secret to what she revealed: one of her numerous sexual conquests.

A secret. She had many of those, so easy to collect when friends with Harry Potter. Many of them were dark, unspoken ones. Those weren't the kind that were said in a night out. The group wasn't that comfortable yet. The Slytherins were measuring her up. They wanted to see if she was suited for their standards.

At first, she was burned at the insinuation she wasn't good enough to be friends. She didn't see things that way. They weren't in Hogwarts anymore. Adults were friends with a variety. None of her friends were so selfish.

She glanced at Malfoy. He smirked back at her.

Oh honestly. He still liked to see her squirm. How ridiculous.

Ginny offered up a smile, breaking the quiet. "Tell 'em about Skeeter."

"As in, Rita Skeeter?" Daphne perked up at the mention.

Hermione ducked her face away in shame. "That is not a moment I wish to relive."

"Exactly the moments we want to know," Blaise said happily.

"Go on, Hermione." Ginny sipped a moment from her pint. "This lot will love it."

Ugh. I can't believe I'm going to play this game.

She tilted back her cider, gulping breath and breath until the entire glass was empty. She slammed it down to the table. Their eyes widened in surprise.

"What?" She asked.

Daphne clinked her glass against the empty one. "Even the boys didn't finish their drinks when they did theirs."

"Oh," she said with a blush. "I thought it was the rules."

"Not like we'd kick you out for that," Theo snorted.

Blaise shushed his friends. "Alright, alright. Quiet down now. Hermione, tell us about Skeeter."

Maybe it was the alcohol that made her feel bold or the sudden rush that came from their impressed faces. Whatever it was, she wanted to chase it. It felt good. A steady beating, a rush in her pulse. The buzz was also nice.

She cleared her throat. "Fine. Fourth year. I found out how she'd been writing her articles. Skeeter was an unregistered animagus. She turned into a beetle and spied on people. So…I locked her in a jar and blackmailed her into not writing anymore slander otherwise I'd out her to the Ministry."

Wow. It was a thrill. Breath came a bit easier.

"Are you serious?" Malfoy asked.

She nodded. "Bitch was a liar. She sold lies and slander for fun to discredit Harry, Hagrid. She deserved it."

"Amen!" Ginny said with a large gulp of ale.

There was a pause amongst the table. Perhaps she read their need wrong. She started to shrink in self-doubt as their eyes drilled through her, but there was finally a spread of a smile on Blaise's face.

He lifted his glass, white teeth apparent even through the faded light. "What's say you, guys? Think she passed the test?"

"Brilliant," said Theo.

"Can't kick the girl out. She's way too cool."

It landed to Malfoy. The table turned on him, watching him. Music started to throb an incredible beat that Hermione noticed. A favorite song. Oh, it sounded amazing as it vibrated her chest with each hollow breath, rattled the bones of her very core. Bits of magic bubbled below the surface. It's like she wanted to explode in hot euphoria.

She hadn't heard if Malfoy answered or not. But the wait was too long.

Hermione downed her entire champagne flute and rose from her seat, scratching the chair legs against the floors as she did.

"Shall I convince you further?"

She walked toward the dance floor, less congested than earlier in the night. Ginny touched her arm as she past but didn't stop her.

The screen held lots of album covers of lots of different artists. U2? Oh, hell no. That was not happening.

One album caught her eye as one she recognized and loved to dance to. Her sober self tried to remind the buzzing self that she never danced in front of others, but she told the harpy to go to sleep.

A dance was what she needed.

Thick Latin basslines jumped the speakers of the bar. Sloshes splat against the ground as patrons startled to the surge of noise. It was popular, even with the Spanish lyrics spread throughout and the rhythm was fit for the type of dance she required.

Her friends sat with mouths wide open as she moved closer. Daphne's eyes bugged out of their sockets when Hermione pointed a finger at Malfoy, beckoning him to the dance floor. The hum of the music pounded louder as the chorus rang.

Ginny sipped from her pint, a satisfied smirk on her face.

"Oh, ho. Everybody, meet fun Hermione."

The cool demeanor of the Slytherin became flushed with the sudden attention. He shifted in his seat ever so slightly, unsure how to proceed. It wasn't until he was elbowed through the ribs that he jumped to his feet. It was all the invitation Hermione needed. She grabbed his hands and led him over to the dancefloor.

Buzzing softly, music loud, and rhythm in her chest. Hermione moved with the beat, pulling Malfoy closer and closer, dancing with him, against him as he still seemed to be in a state of shock. It wasn't his face that said so; that seemed more focused than ever. The way his eyes flickered with uncertainty as she pulled him closer that sparked her interest.

"This too close for you, Draco?" She asked him.

His body went rigid. "What?"

"Is this too close for you?" She repeated, louder. "Uncomfortable?"

God, how did the music feel so good. A high of pretty lights fluttered through her eyes as she looked as him, too unbridled to mind the fact that he'd tormented her through school and hexed her more than once.

Suddenly he pulled her right against his body. Chest to chest. Her heels made it easier to gaze into his eyes as he was a tall, lean man. Taller than most.

A blush came to her cheeks as she felt every muscled part of physique against hers. Wow. His arms were taut. Below her touch she felt them flex as he leaned her weight onto his. Oh, wow. That made her tingle.

"Answer your question, Granger?"

She nodded.

Now, he was in lead. He twisted her body this way and that. Every part of her body aligned with his as she danced, feeling the heat of the pub swirl her mind.

A dark hand emerged into view holding a small glass filled with pink liquid.

"Fancy another? Looked a little dry out here." It was Blaise.

She smirked and threw her arms around his neck, unexpectedly kissing his cheek.

"Thank Merlin. You read my mind." The pink liquid burned a fierce one as it drained to the back of her throat. "What in the name of…what did I just drink?"

Theo smiled as he handed a glass full of pink to Malfoy. "Merlin's surprise. Taste different to everyone."

"Care for a dance, Miss Granger?" Blaise offered up his hand.

"Oh! Now he's polite. But when I fell on my ass back at the Quidditch pitch, he was the first one to yell 'Chip a nail or just on the mensies?' Bloody prat," Ginny exclaimed. "I ought force him to dance with me.'

It was all in good fun. The group laughed, and Hermione felt like laughing too, though she didn't quite get it.

"Right then. Ginny and Blaise, it is." Daphne grabbed hold of Theo's sweater with a tilted brow. "And I've got the oaf. Who has Draco, hm? Hermione?"

Malfoy visibly tightened. His stone-gray eyes narrowed to his friend clutching at Theo for dear life, trying to swirl away.

"So quick to get away from me, mate?" He sneered, the first of the night. "Daphne's with me."

Her lips pushed together in a taut line.

The two swirled off for a private conversation away from the group in almost heated debate as it progressed. Blaise and Ginny laughed as they danced. A fair share of Muggle patrons examined them with narrowed eyes, grumbling about the noise. Theo was a size thinner than Malfoy, and a large amount more awkward. His movements were stilted, not so fluid. Hermione tried to follow his movements in a parallel dance but eventually found herself wandering to the bar.

She caught a glance at Malfoy and Daphne near their table. His hands were flat against the tabletop. Daphne held hers in the air, in question.

Their lips moved fast. Hermione couldn't make it out.

"Oops." A man bumped into Hermione's side. She snapped in attention, even as the alcohol made her want to giggle. "Sorry, luv. Didn't see you there…wowza. Aren't you a pretty little thing? What's your name?"

He was older than she, in his late twenties to early thirties she guessed. Dark luscious locks hanged down to his collarbone, a gentle curl at the end. The squareness of his jaw protruded as he smiled at her, attracting attention to the shine of his brilliant teeth (a trait a dentist's daughter always appreciates) and the gentle shine of a ring in his ear.

There was a stubble across his face, but it was delicately trimmed with dramatic lines of dark hair and beige skin. Well groomed. Eyebrows were tamed. Maybe it was the light, but his skin looked better than hers with pores the size of a pinhead or smaller.

Hermione stumbled over her name. "Gra – well, uh, Hermione. Granger is my last name."

She pushed out her hand. "Hermione Granger. You can call me Hermione, or Granger. Or Hermione Granger if you're formal."

"What is it that you do, Hermione Granger?"

"I'm a pencil pusher for the government. That's why I had to dress like this, yeah? So, they didn't know I am a snore."

The man half-smiled at her and handed her a glass. "Mind if I get you a drink?"

"Sure," she said.

She raised the glass to her lips with the utter surprise that she didn't even ask what it was, when a group of slender, cool fingers wretched the glass away. It was slammed against the worktop.

"I don't think so, Granger," Malfoy said. His hand grabbed hold of her and steered her away. The man gawked. "Sorry, mate. Have a good night."

A song she loved started again. She loved. It was Post Malone, a man who connected to her very soul.

"Mmm. I love this song," she cooed in her bliss lost in the moment.

Malfoy's voice was near her ear in a hot minute. "We don't accept drinks from strangers. Remember, Granger? I will buy you whatever you want, anything at all. Just, don't let guys like that hand you a drink. It isn't safe."

"Why would he give me a drink that isn't safe?"

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Ugh, Gryffindors."

The crowd thickened. It was prime time for clubs. The pub was close to many popular choices, so it was undoubtedly their first stop in before trekking over to dance their nights away. Hermione had never been to a club. It seemed pointless at the time. Fun wasn't like this before.

She saw the group of Slytherins and one redheaded Gryffindor through the crowd, all searching one way and another. Ginny wore lines of worry in the corners of her mouth. Blaise frowned, leaned over and touched her arm gently as he spoke into her ear. She nodded biting her bottom lip. He started forward until he saw Malfoy with Hermione in tow.

"You found her, I see."

Malfoy stiffly nodded. "Stopped her from swallowing a large amount of an unknown drink from a total stranger."

Hermione snorted. "He wasn't a stranger."

"What was his name, Granger?"

Philip, maybe? John was a pretty common name in these parts. That was a good choice, too. Wait, was he a Muggle? If he wasn't, it could be anything.

Malfoy waited in patience as Blaise seemed unimpressed.

"Since when is the famous Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Princess, such an impulsive dope?" Blaise asked.

It wounded her pride. For a moment.

"Perhaps Gryffindor princess isn't really a Gryffindor after all," she said, not liking the way her words slurred out of her lips. How drunk was she? She didn't feel sick. Just great. Amazing. It was the best night ever. She smiled wildly. "I think I'm starting to like Slytherin a bit better. Mind if I join?"

The rest of the group caught sight because they swarmed around them like a school of hungry fish toward a fallen seed. Their eyes wore concern. Daphne touched her arm and asked if she felt okay. Ginny wanted to know what she was up to which made Malfoy lean over and talk into her ear, but Hermione lost the words again.

It was so loud. Where did all the noise come from?

"Hermione here just renounced her claim to Gryffindor," Blaise announced. "She's decided what we've known all along. Slytherin is superior."

There was a remarkable change in Ginny. Worry left. She turned a bit taken aback as Hermione eagerly nodded.

"Really?" Daphne looked doubtful. "Woo! Another girl to keep me company. I get lonely with just Stori."

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Malfoy's body stand frozen in place, his chest barely rose with breath. What was that?

"If she's joining, then I am, too," Ginny added.

"It's not an open club," Blaise sneered. "We don't just accept anybody."

Theo nudged his shoulder. "Why you here then, Blaise?"

"Bugger off."

The noticeable silence came from Malfoy. When she dared look up at his pale face, he was distant in appearance. She always saw the lines of his frame blur into nothing. Gone.

He stalked off without a word toward the bar to order another glass of whiskey, no doubt. His friends frowned. Daphne bit her lip. She watched him closely as he marched to the table, eyes kept to the floor.

"I'll go talk to him," she whispered to Blaise.

Legs started to shake underneath Hermione. She felt antsy. Motion. She wanted to move. And she knew just who was going to be her victim.

"Blaise, I think you owe me a dance."

He grinned. "You know I do. Let's go."

Time blurred as they danced their night away. There were rounds of drinks, pink and purple, white and neon green. Some glowed in her hand with slight mutterings of magic, courtesy of Theo who invested some time in learning wandless skills. They all laughed, moved to a group and danced together with no particular partner until a slow song stalled their fun.

She danced with Blaise. They glided seamlessly, thanks to Blaise's brilliant lead otherwise Hermione would have tripped over her heels and snapped an ankle.

Blaise's shoulder was tapped. He scrunched his brow and looked around.

"Mind if I cut in?" Malfoy asked softly.

His dark friend casted a devious look over his shoulder before he nodded. Her body was handed over to Malfoy to control as the slow rhythm vibrated the air.

He slipped his hand into hers, though she gasped at his cool touch.

"Sorry," he said. "Cold hands. Family trait, I'm afraid."

His arm wrapped around her tiny waist but kept them a friendly distance apart. Very honorable.

Silence fell between them as they rocked through an ocean of rocking bodies. Each kept their eyes on the outside afraid what might be said if they looked to one another. Hermione felt drowsy in the dark light of night as the music halted her pulse.

It only quickened again when eyes were on her. She glanced up and met the cool gaze.

"Uh, um, you – you look good, Granger."

"Thank you," she replied with a sincere smile. "Sorry if it's awkward to be around me. I wouldn't have come out if I'd known you be uncomfortable."

He scoffed. "I am a grown man, Granger. If I didn't want to be here, I wouldn't."

"Well, still. I appreciate you tolerating a Mudblood."

Malfoy seized, stopping their movement completely. "Don't say that."

"Why?"

"Because I don't like it," he growled. It sounded like a warning, one that she missed.

"Why not? It's the truth. I am a Mud –"

His hand snapped up over her mouth. Frustration so clear through his body. The coolness of his eyes turned rock hard.

"Please. Don't say that word. And you're wrong, very wrong, to assume I still feel that way. Haven't for years," he said. "So, again please, don't think I see you that way because I don't. And I don't listen to anyone who says otherwise."

She searched through his eyes, looking for any piece of sincerity within the gray. They were soft and tingled as she shared such an intense connection. It tugged at her belly. His flesh against hers, the cool against the hot sweat of the crowded pub.

Malfoy stared back at her without abandon. He was serious.

Hermione nodded, and his hand dropped away. She felt for the first time in her life that Draco Malfoy was a very different person than she imagined. Cool to the touch, but warm inside as he regarded her more with respect than distain. The way he cradled her in his arms with respect, putting himself in the way of clumsy bar patrons as they bumped their way through the crowds.

"You are different," Hermione stated, a clarity with a burst of cold night air from the door.

His brow furrowed. "Oh really?"

"Very different."

"Well," he swirled her around a puddle of spilled drink of the floor, "there may be a reason for that."

She looked up at him curiously.

He captured her gaze strongly, not letting the bond be broken. "Honestly, Granger, I didn't want to scare you away tonight by the reminder of who I was, to you and your friends when we were young." He swallowed. "I thought if I controlled myself, that you'd look past all that. Despite what you may think of us, we are just as lonely as you these days. The world can be bitter when it spat you out and doesn't need you anymore."

"You weren't in the right," she said suddenly. "The war, I mean. You made a mistake, a bad choice."

"I know that. We all do. It's why this is all that's left of us," Malfoy drawled. "We've paid the costs of our fathers, our grandfathers. Lost many along the way, just like your side. But, that's not what I'm talking about. All that stands for what it is. I mean, I'm talking about me. My past, with you."

Hermione nodded sadly. "I already forgave you, Malfoy, a long time ago."

This surprised him.

"Uh, really? Wow. Because I had this whole thing planned out."

She chuckled into his arm. "Not necessary. I came to terms with your lot ages and ages ago. You're a bit late, you know."

"Damn." He smirked.

"Just be yourself and it'll be alright, yeah? It won't hurt my feelings. I might actually like having to put you in your place," she laughed.

Malfoy scoffed. "Don't get too cocky, Granger."


	4. Chapter 4

**Late morning light poured** in through open curtains. It burned as Hermione peeked her eyes open.

"Oh," she groaned.

She tried to pull the pillow over her head, but something weighed it down. Blonde hair spilled over the shared pillow, moving a bit at the disturbance. It teased her nose until it tickled enough for her to fully awaken. Headache and all.

Hermione was shocked to see Daphne Greengrass sleeping in her bed cuddled up next to Ginny as they snored loudly into each other's faces. Both wore baggy T-shirts over cotton panties. Hermione was dressed similarly. Compliments of a wardrobe raid while hammered. Bulging drawers of the dresser a big indication that Hermione was not in her right mind.

The mattress moved only slightly as she slipped out of bed, leaving the two girls to sleep in peace.

Hermione didn't remember coming back to the flat the night before. Apparating was clearly not an option, with all the alcohol they'd consumed. A splinch was a bitch of an injury to recover from, plus the awful scar it gave. But Floo? What happened to the Floo? It was for the exact reason when Apparating wasn't an option.

An awkward morning greeting in the shame of drunken night out was not a good way to start a Sunday. Especially with a migraine the size of Hogwarts on her temples.

She slipped out into the main area of the flat where the living room and kitchen and dining room were all together in the open. Her feet slapped against the bare tile. It echoed typically in loneliness, as Hermione was left alone more often than not with Ginny's practice and game schedule, but now it was drowned out with the sound of sleeping. Noisy, nasally sleeping.

The kettle sat atop the cooktop. It dipped below a pouring faucet and filled with the cold water. Tea. She needed tea. Her tongue felt like a dry sack in her mouth. Merlin, she was thirsty.

She pulled out the tin of tea, and bottles of Hangover Potion. She guessed they'd all need it. She did.

Hermione chugged hers until not a drop remained.

"Feeling sick, are you?" There was a snicker behind her.

She whipped around on heel. Malfoy stood in a pair of tracksuit bottoms in silky green and a simple black tee.

God, he looked great. All teased and ruffled up.

Wait. Why was _he_ here?

Malfoy stopped short when he noticed she wasn't wearing pants. His eyes shot up to the celling trying to avoid any kind of eye contact which was the most surprised Hermione ever recalled being. A gentleman, Malfoy? Since when did he care to shield her from shame?

There was a stirring in her mind that reminded her of words. Hers and his. The night before was a bit blurry later in the night, but she swore it was them coming to a truce.

The fact that he stood, ashamed of catching her in a perceived embarrassing moment, made her eyebrows raise. He had meant them? Not as a drunken promise made to be broken? Whoa.

"Need a moment?" He asked, doing his best not to glance down at her bare legs.

She shrugged, transfiguring her panties into leggings. "Sorry. I'm so used to Cormac always cornering me that it doesn't seem to matter anymore."

"Pardon?"

Ugh. The pervert. Why did he always have to sour good moments?

"Oh nothing." She sighed. "Need one?"

The potion sat on the counter in plain sight.

Typical Malfoy smirk entered right on cue. "No thanks. Some of us know how to handle our alcohol."

"Sod off, Malfoy."

He stood tense until he saw her smile and relaxed his shoulders. Instead, he swooped in to help with tea and settled in on the couch, far enough away to seem proper but still not in obvious avoidance.

Their tea cups settled against the nearby table, steaming in airy wafts from the porcelain.

Snores came from both rooms in noisy competition.

"It's a wonder how they're able to talk at all, doing that all night long, isn't it?" Hermione observed.

Without liquid courage, she felt less bold near Malfoy, suddenly aware of just how familiar they'd been the night before. It was suddenly aware that her and Malfoy were not common in any form. They didn't share interests. Their worlds, completely different. Topics of conversation failed to come to mind.

She examined Malfoy as he sipped his overly milky white tea. It was clear that he was relaxed, not on edge like she was.

"Blaise is the worst," Malfoy stated casually.

He lifted up the morning's delivery of the _Daily Prophet_. She hadn't even heard the owl this morning.

"I think Daphne gives him a run for his money. Ginny will be deaf when she wakes up."

The quiet fell between them. Malfoy fixated on the paper, Hermione on watching him. He sneered as he read, no doubt in distaste for what was printed, and sometimes smiled in a cheeky grin. It was odd to see his face contort through emotions so clearly.

As long as she'd known him, Malfoy was an unexpressive person. His father Lucius was similar in air and attitude. A certain level of disdain through words, but a blank face. She'd never known Draco to react so clearly.

It felt wrong to view it out in the open. Did he even realize?

"Quit the staring, Granger." His eyes read on. "I know I'm beautiful, but you could at least try to be subtle."

She blanched. "I wasn't – Oh honestly Malfoy. Like I'd be interested in _that_."

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind."

They sat in content silence until the group of friends started to rouse from their slumber, groaning at the open curtains and the noisy neighbors overhead. Malfoy and Hermione swallowed back their enjoyment of their complaints, watching them fight each other for the Hangover Potions on the counter. Daphne elbows Blaise in the ribs, Blaise yanked her hair which staggered her back a few steps.

"Where is Theo and Ginny?" Hermione entered the kitchen and set out two more cups near the teapot.

"Theo bailed last night," Blaise sneered. "What a blowhard. Too good to share a bed. Good thing I hexed his wand to wake him every ten minutes starting at 5 am."

Daphne laughed. "Ginny is still passed out. Looks like your jog will be delayed, Draco."

He folded the paper close, careful to leave it on the crease lines. "Figured as much. I'll head out then."

"Wait. You don't want to do brunch?" Daphne sounded disappointed. "We always do brunch. Hermione will come, won't you?"

"Brunch?" Hermione repeated. "I hadn't really thought about it…"

Malfoy paused. "We go to Muggle places. Not anywhere near Diagon Alley."

Another Muggle establishment? That was a surprise. None of them were too keen on them while in school. The war had changed everything.

Their eyes turned to her, the brilliant sky blue of Daphne's, Blaise's chocolate brown a dynamic feeling but none compared to the chill from the gray eyes right before her.

"I wasn't talking about that. It's just that Sundays are usually mine and Ginny's breakfasts together. We don't get to do it much since we both work and most weekends she is gone," Hermione admitted with a dense blush. "After her jog, I mean."

"No wonder she's so fast," Malfoy commented.

The second time they'd mentioned that. Daphne and Blaise broke off into their own conversation about something that Hermione didn't notice. She began to feel that they'd been friends with Ginny longer than she realized. How had they even become friends in the first place?

When they were in school together, Ginny was the most anti-Slytherin out there. No fear when it came to hexing a few, and never backing down when it came to a fight. Malfoy was a prime target for that because of his hatred of Harry.

That was the internal deflate that Hermione felt. Was this all a way for her to get back at Harry?

"I'd love some brunch," Hermione said with a smile.

She hated to feed the very mechanism meant to spite her best friend, but there was little option left for her. Ginny was all she had left. Hermione couldn't go back to the Burrow, she couldn't stand to see yet another Weasley brother who looked exactly like _him_. And she refused to continue on the path of lonely existence where all she looked forward to were the days that Luna showed up to hand her a latest addition of Quibbler or speak of a newly discovered species she found.

But. She was going to ask Ginny. Later.

The group left for brunch little after ten thirty and walked down the street to a sweet café that Hermione knew. It was cheap, with plastic seats from the eighties, but the food was perfect. Though the group she brought was hardly impressed. They settled into a booth by a window swallowing in uncertainty as they eyed the menus.

She hid her giggles as they tried to order their meals, fit with ridiculous names. Tom foolery was the restaurant theme. It burned Blaise's throat to even ask what their extra special Sunday sauce was.

Once the drama (that's Slytherin's for you) of ordering settled, they fell into conversation that drifted naturally from their lives to their jobs to what they did for fun.

Daphne lived at home with her parents and sister. She worked as a Trainee Healer at a small clinic in the outskirts of the city. It often left her overworked, leaving little apt time to find suitable friends or marriage prospects as her parents pushed for.

"Unlike Stori, whose already been put into contract with someone," Daphne cleared her throat quickly shaking her thoughts away and continued, "my parents think that I am too career driven. And too attached to my rascal friends here. They tried to put Blaise and I into negotiations."

"Negotiations? As in, engagement?" Dated practices of the elites put more medieval spins onto their world rather than modernism that Hermione viewed it as. "How can you stand it? Someone making that kind of decision for you?"

For once, Malfoy added in. "It is not about personal choice. It is about heirs and inheritance. To ensure family means stay within established families."

"What's it matter if Daphne uses her fortune to her every whim? It is her life."

"Not if it isn't her money," Malfoy curtly answered. "She's at the will to make her own choice, just give up her own position in family standing. It is not so necessary for her family as she has other siblings that could well establish the line."

There was a small detail there. Somewhere…

"Aren't you an only child, Malfoy?"

He tensed suddenly caught in a snare. "Why do you ask?"

"Curious. That's all," she answered. "You haven't declared having a fiancé. She hasn't come around or even been mentioned. Curious how long you think you'll be able to swerve a similar fate."

Refills of tea and Blaise's coffee were given, relieving the surmounted tension radiated from Malfoy as he sat in silence. His eyes drained of all interest. Throughout the conversation she glanced at his distracted nature, more intent on the window to the dirty streets of London rather than his own friend's company. She figured it wasn't her place. They weren't that well acquainted. Maybe, just maybe, she overstepped a line.

Blaise was a Potioneer, of course. Professor Slughorn helped him get into an internship with a prestigious recluse who cooked his potions in a dusty attic with poor ventilation. Fumes of various potions gave Blaise more than a few reasons to be brought to St. Mungos, a responsibility of his own since his mentor did not leave his estate. He simply waited for Blaise's return and continued on with their work.

Then came the topic of his mother, Mrs. Zabini. She was infamous for her wretched luck or proclivity to marry men so close to their surprising deaths. News was in the papers that she was on the prowl again, this time with a werewolf. The ripple through the group showed.

"They are people, you know. Cursed, but still people," she assured him.

Greyback was a known werewolf and loyal minion of Voldemort's during the war. It appealed to some magical creatures although Hermione wasn't sure why. Voldemort ensured he'd enslave anyone with magical blood that wasn't pure. With the standing of the werewolves with the war, she assumed there to allegiance between the elites and them.

Based on the reactions, apparently not.

"There is some kind of mate thing that happens between werewolves. It's weird. All they do is shred the house during a full moon. Frankly, it's disgusting."

Hermione choked on her water. "I'm sorry?"

Finally, the pariah in the corner broke his silence.

"It means they fuck like crazy, doesn't it, Blaise?" Malfoy pronounced with obvious delight, slinging his arm around his friend's shoulders.

"Take that smirk off your face before I hex you."

"Boys…" Daphne touched both their hands. "Let's be adults or I'll hex you both."

The tone forced a level of attention. Blaise nodded in compliance, turning back to his plate, but Malfoy resisted. He still held a smug look.

He glanced at Hermione and relented.

"Fine."

"That's kind of sweet, actually," Hermione said offhandedly.

Blaise, Malfoy and even Daphne looked at her confused. Oh, come on. Daphne had to know what she meant.

"My mom having sex with a werewolf is sweet? Do you know what they've done to the wallpaper? My own door has claw marks. Whose were they? I don't know!" Blaise went white in the memory.

Hermione instantly regretted her words. "Oh, God, no. I just meant that it's like every girl's fantasy to be someone's 'mate' , you know, destined to be someone's forever, and now your mom gets to be his. That's sweet for her, isn't it?"

She nudged Daphne's shoulder. "You know what I mean. Like Twilight or Fifty Shades of Grey."

Her new girlfriend scrunched her nose. "Am I supposed to know what those are?"

"What, are you serious?" Hermione's mouth fell open. "You've not read or seen either of those? I've got all the books and the movies if you want to borrow them sometime. They are so good."

"Maybe we could all come over and watch it?" Daphne smiled as she dug into her Funky Bleedin' Waffle plate. "What about Wednesday?"

Hermione suddenly blushed at the attention of both guys from their side of the table. "Er, I don't think that's too good of an idea."

Malfoy chuckled. "Yeah? And why not?"

"It's got some scenes in it that make it…a bit cheeky."

What man doesn't like that word?

There was distinct interest in Blaise's eyes. "Cheeky? Wonderful. Does it have to do with the werewolf and my mom thing?"

"Twilight does. Exactly that. We can watch that all together and then just Daphne and me for Fifty Shades?"

A noise came out of Malfoy's mouth that was unheard of. Somewhere between a chortle and a snort. Whatever it was, neither Daphne nor Blaise thought it normal. They craned their necks and flexed perplexed eyebrows his way.

Hermione found it interesting. It was easy to gauge when he was just being Malfoy or when he was being peculiar.

The more she observed him, the more confused she was. Their school days were not that long ago, and her memory was attuned to memories that included him. Draco Malfoy was a constantly sarcastic, teasing, harsh person. He loved to put others in line, below him typically.

This new experience with an adult Draco Malfoy was something out of a movie with impossible positivity. An actual reform? A turn around for someone after the horrors of war aligned with dark forces was as problematic and likely as Darth Vader embracing the light side of the Force.

Articles in the paper left little doubt what Draco Malfoy suffered since the war, and his trial had been telling to the rest of what he endured. She knew it was awful at Malfoy Manor. Voldemort had used it as a headquarters during the war and liked to punish Draco with torture and witness the atrocities he was party to whilst under the Dark Lord's control. The fall of Malfoy had been great. His money, his fame, and his unending ability to capture attention of witches was now a mark of shame. Disgust. Societies shame, one they once embraced with puppy dog eyes, now blurred behind their own embarrassment.

Hermione knew more from Harry, too. She knew that Malfoy was forced into more than he was willing. One emotional circumstance she tried to forget was Malfoy crying to Myrtle in the bathroom, his sixth year a blinding light throughout their school career.

Who was this new Draco Malfoy? Sure, she like his friends and he wasn't difficult to be around like she assumed, but there wasn't a welcoming wagon for each to be around. He was plenty pleasant, but avoidant in a way. Where were his scars? The war left plenty on her. He had to bear some, too. Some insecurity, unfortunate habit, depression? Draco Malfoy could not be the stone that he pretended to be.

The question of real friendship gave her waves of doubt.

"What was that?" Blaise's voice went squeaky.

Hermione giggled behind her hand as Blaise was mocked for his high pitch. She hid behind her hand as she tried to think a way out of it. She really didn't want to explain Fifty Shades of Grey to two boys. There had to be a way to get out of it.

"I don't care what it is," she heard Malfoy say above the screeching of her thoughts, "but by the way Granger's face went red, I wouldn't miss it. This Fifty Shades."

"Oh my god, no." Hermione gasped. The sex scenes were too intense for new friends. New friends that were boys. It'd be so awkward!

"Does Wednesday work for you guys?" Daphne beamed with a devious smile, a sudden reminder that she wasn't amongst a pride of lions, but a colony of snakes.


	5. Chapter 5

**Monday came and went** without incident. Work was stressful. Piles of paperwork. Inattentive assistant. The usual.

Tuesday was much the same.

Wednesday yielded a visit with Harry Potter, whom stumbled into her new office in lengthy Auror robes and oversized shoes. His hair was wiry, tangled mess. The smudge of his eyeglasses bothered Hermione to no end. He was a mess, same as Hogwarts. There was no changing him.

She welcomed him with a smile, though his appearance made her shift from ease to anxiety.

Harry meant trouble. One way or another, it always came to him.

"Afternoon, Hermione." He waved with a soft smile. "How's the new job?"

"It is trying."

She restrained herself from unloading just how much of a mess the department was because of the retired department head. Harry would intervene, and it was not his mess to get involved in. Hermione kept her quiet.

He lowered himself into one of the three chairs on the other side of Hermione's desk. It was his usual place in their rare meetings. Rare because of Ginny. The risk of losing her was greater than the reminder of sadder times at Harry's emergence.

Harry eyed her through his thin rims. "Ron said he paid you a visit."

"Came to harass his sister more like," she retorted.

A sticky silence fell over the room as Harry shifted in his seat, discomfort marked all over his features. It was not unnoticed.

Hermione sighed. "You wanker. You told him to come over, didn't you?"

"I just want this to end," Harry cried out. "This war. The family is torn apart because of her."

That was a hard reminder. Ginny was broken when Harry left to run off after Horcruxes with the twins and Hermione and Ron. His concern to her safety. That action wounded her more deeply than anyone realized. It was well and good to be self-sacrificing in the face of society's end, but Harry was the one thing that she made herself about. Ever since she was a child, she worshipped him and molded herself to fit around his demeanor.

Without him, she was an empty misfit shell. It was her deep ugly scar of war.

"You hurt her, Harry."

He exhaled sharply. "It was better than her physically being hurt. We all knew I was going to die. There was no time for romance. I had to focus. You know, save the world."

"Well that's exactly why she can't come back," she replied softly. It hurt so much; being on the opposite side of Harry. So unnatural. "You threw her away from more important things like she wasn't important."

"She is important. Just not compared to the entire world."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well that's how we've come to this situation. Listen, can we not talk about this right now? We never get anywhere or say anything new. It's all become so predictable. The way it is, is the way it is. Can't bother changing it."

"We can try," he said bitterly.

His statement wasn't meant to be anger at her, she knew. It was frustration with the situation. They were best friends since childhood. It felt wrong to be at odds, on different ends of a situation and not together or close. Perhaps it was subtle jealousy over the bond Hermione cultivated with Ginny after their time away from the Weasley family.

The paperwork progressed slowly in the silent tension of the office. Memos dashed in multiple times with notifications of uses of accidental magic, newly discovered Muggleborns and situation reports of cleared circumstances. It had to be less busy than the office of the Aurors, or Magical Law Enforcement officers. Harry and Ron were constantly overwhelmed with memos as they zoomed through the offices. They each had their own share of paperwork to attend to.

However, as a department head, Hermione held more paperwork than them both combined.

Her quill scratched endlessly as she filled form after form. Some turned her face into a distinct frown.

"Months old," she mumbled. "Dokas let this sit for months. Incorrigible."

Harry met the man a few times at Ministry parties and was frightenly aware of the essence that accompanied the man. "I'd be careful who you speak to about him. Heard that he has Floos in many fireplaces, if you know what I mean."

His friend bristled at the idea. "I'm not afraid of Dokas."

"No, of course not. He's only a man with incredible reach and unending pockets," Harry said flatly. When Hermione shot him a look meant to kill, he sighed. The glasses fell to the tip of his nose as he rubbed his eyes, exhausted. "Look. Just be careful, okay? I care about you, Hermione. You don't let me know what's going on anymore. This is what little I can do to protect you. So just listen. Please."

In that small quiet moment, it felt like they were back at Hogwarts again, in firelight in Gryffindor Tower with open books on their laps and hot cocoa in their mugs as the snow pelted against glass. It was her very favorite memory of Harry. A time when he wasn't plagued with the images of war, the weight of the world, the despair that came with it. None of it existed then. It was just two best friends in warmth through a winter storm, complaining about Malfoy and speaking of reason news.

Oh. Malfoy.

Her gaze turned hesitant. Harry disliked Malfoy very much. Although he had testified for Malfoy and his mother, there was no love lost between the pair. Same was true for Hermione except that she found herself within his acquaintanceship. Harry was a good many things, understanding and forgiving being the two most foremost behind brave and impulsive. Should she mention it?

Of course the question of why would come up. How it happened, when. Hermione didn't know those answers. Ginny never explained just how the Slytherins came to her friendship and not the end of her wand.

Partly that was due to the rebellion. Ginny did many things that the Weasley's weren't too fond of. The Slytherins might have been just another rebellion that resulted in something lucrative for both of them. Hermione needed friends, Ginny needed love. They both got it in small amounts from the new circle.

"Molly has been asking about you," Harry said sometime later. "She's been wondering when she'll see you again."

Hermione froze. That was not something they spoke of. Ever.

"Harry, please. Don't."

"Percy has a girlfriend. Teddy has gotten so grown up you'll hardly recognize. And George." Harry's eyes turned sad. "George misses you. He needs you."

Tears rushed Hermione into sudden blindness. It was for that reason she avoided Harry and the rest of the Weasley clan. So many reminders. Forgiveness and need. The very pain leeched through her heart in poison.

Hermione sniffed the pain back. "Ginny and I are busy."

"All day?"

She nodded. "All day, every day."

When was the last time she'd seen the Weasley family?

She remembered the dismal gray sky as it loomed overhead sparse clouds littered through the distance of an eerie full moon. The Burrow was lit with candles, warm red curtains glowed against the dark of night. It was cold. Her breath created smokey puffs out her mouth as she approached.

Sunday dinners were an important aspect of the Weasley's. They ate together most meals, but Sunday was the day when everyone showed, including Bill and Fleur. Charlie showed up sometimes, too. That was how important it was. Molly created a feast fit for kings, although they were well aware it wasn't that easy for their income.

That night, those weren't thoughts on her mind. She was withholding her growing sob as she came back to the very place _he_ lived, the very place that she fell in love with _him_. It was a stab to her heart, a betrayal of _him_ coming back to his home when she was the very reason death came to him so soon. A beloved Weasley. She imaged him writhing in his grave over her with his happy family, taking his place at the table as he laid cold, dead, because of her.

Because of her.

The family flooded her. They came to her side, asked her questions, and gazed directly into her soul, learning her guilt in their loved one's death. Yet they clung to her. So forgiving, so comforting.

"It will be alright." They all said. Sadness and compassion as their own grief was buried away in their sense of resolve. "This is what he would have wanted. He is at peace."

Over and over their words played in her mind. Peace. Was he at peace? Or was it agony that he was a part of her eternal fate whilst she rolled around in the joy of his stolen future?

"If he could see you now…Fred would be - ."

Hermione gasped. "How dare you say his name to me! I can't – I can't believe you'd do this here, of all places. My job. My work."

The watery flood sat behind her eyes ready to burst.

His name. She hadn't heard aloud since that night at the Burrow where she collapsed in absolute agony from the guilt, the refusal to open her eyes and be reminded of all she'd stolen.

"It's been years. You need to forgive yourself," Harry said. "He'd want you to be happy. It's an insult to his memory to be so ruined. All he ever did was laugh, joke around, make you smile. You need to do that. For him."

Hermione swallowed back the lump in her throat. The memory of red hair, his teasing scent of yummy ocean waves, long arms around her waist and a loving kiss planted upon her cheek as they stared at a horizon of new sun, light filtered through land as it shined upon a dark descending world. New promise, that's what he called it. The start of something new. A place for fun and hope. Not like then, where those were cursed words.

She shook him out. "I've got to get back to work. So, if you don't mind."

Her fingers pointed to the door. She didn't dare to look up from the form. His face. It'd make her fury bubble to the surface. Or a fist.

Harry shuffled out of the office with a few minor voiced complaints, but it was met with uninterrupted silence. His friend dove headfirst into her work without another glance his way.

After the door latched shut, her writing stopped. She drooped her head into her hands. A wild mane of brown curls cascaded down over her cheeks, a dense shadow over her eyes as she whimpered softly.

Ron and Harry knew how she felt. She told them just how she felt torn to pieces every time she fell into her old life, one that he was ripped from. To see that mop of Ron's red hair made her thought catch thinking it might be him. The nightmare ended. He'd be alive. But then came the crushing despair as she remembered that he was gone. His headstone a slab of preserved stone in a picture frame in the drawer of her bedside table.

Sometimes at night she needed to see where he was.

Hermione sucked in her breath and followed through with her day. She withheld the dam. And when she finally collapsed into her bed at home did she finally realize just how low she felt. The very bottom. The scar across her body glowed bright, scarred and pitted with pus and awful rot inside.

She needed to forget. Not remember. It needed to go away.

Bright red lips shined in the mirror. A white blouse slipped over her bra easily. It hugged her closely, spilt open to reveal her peachy cream flesh below with no tank top. The exposed skin greeted the air in silent gasp. A short pencil skirt slipped over her hips, black and white floral designs across the fabric. A short romp through Ginny's shoes revealed a pair of shiny black booties, topped with white lacy flowers.

The evening of London glowed overtop her as she marched down the streets, searching for the right place. A place to forget. It was Wednesday so the pubs and clubs wouldn't be too packed. But packed was what she needed. A place full to the brim, a place to lose yourself.

A few blocks down she found the hazy glow of a sign. It read _Perdita_.

Music throbbed onto the street in front, yet it seemed ignored by those who walked by. It wasn't pop melody or stringy guitar. Just gentle, seductive. She stood for a length at the cusp of the building. It stood out amongst the light of neon signs and blaring rise of voices as they passed.

The darkness loomed over it like a cloud. It swallowed every ounce of light into its abyss.

It struck fear into her heart. She staggered backward as the power clawed at her. The thought to leave crossed her mind, and she swallowed it down.

Forget. Forget it all.

Hermione marched in through the black doors and entered a surprisingly small room. It was dark, with a slight hum of green from the light of the bar. Not a single costumer inside. She squinted through the darkness to see a lone figure lined in green. It was tall, stocky. A wiry beard hanged down off the chin, which arched her senses to wary but as she stepped closer, she realized the figure was a woman.

The woman held an impassive stare as Hermione approached.

"How much for a drink?" She asked softly.

She reached in and grabbed hold of a few bills, certain it'd be enough for the start.

When she glanced back up, a glass sat on the bar filled with liquid unknown. It was clear like water but smelled of something stronger. Vodka, perhaps.

"Oh," she said. "I guess that'll do. How much?"

Bearded woman stood unmoved. Her eyes stared at Hermione with indifference, no effort to answer.

Hermione shifted back and forth. The longer the silence carried, the more ridiculous she felt.

"Is this enough?" She placed a few bills on the top of the bar.

Thankfully, the woman nodded and collected the money.

"You may go," the woman said suddenly.

The surprise nearly dropped the glass from Hermione's hand. She clutched the glass tightly before she leaned in closer.

"Go?" She swallowed. "Go where?"

Three doors suddenly – almost like magic – revealed themselves. None of were significant nor were they marked with any kind of sign.

Hermione chewed her lip. "Which one do I choose?"

"That depends on where you wish to end."

She remembered the glass in her hand and titled to her lips but found herself unable to drink. She glanced at the woman with question.

The woman's dull eyes sparkled to life. "Make a choice and it will provide for you."

"But how do I know which one is the correct one?"

"You'll know," she hummed back.

It looked like the bearded woman was done speaking. She backed into shadows. An impassive being.

Hermione eyed the three doors ahead with wonder, and hesitantly opened the one on the left. Its knob was warm as she gripped it. That must've been a good sign. She stepped through into more darkness. Endless darkness. She gasped as she tried to find stability but struggled as weight crushed against her and finally spat her out into a much more open room.

There were slate gray walls with lush couches and furry beanbags scattered about the floor. In bright red and navy blue, some were gray as the walls with silver tinge. Light fixtures dotted the landscape, leaving much space in between suspended in total darkness.

Patrons were spread throughout the space. They looked comfortable in place. Empty glasses in their hands.

Oh, right.

Hermione raised her glass and chugged the liquid until it was gone. The burn radiated out her nostrils in fiery breaths. She nearly choked when she felt herself being touched. Her hand, wrist was being lazily led.

Light turned into squiggle of brilliant color as she stared at the fixtures. Fur of the bag touched her skin like the touch of another. It surged through her. Hermione settled deeper into the bliss. It washed over her in a sticky sheen as her body felt afloat through the air, worshipped by the very oxygen as it bubbled against her.

"What's your poison, love?" A voice asked above her. It was just a black shadow with no face to her. She didn't move.

"I don't know," she breathed.

The figure chuckled. "We're all in here for something. Gots to be bad if you're in this one."

"I don't know," she repeated.

She wanted to see the pretty lights above as they twinkled like colorful stars just beyond her reach. Her girlish giggle escaped as one ducked close to her face and tickled her neck.

The black shadow retreated. In its wake left a tide of splendor like spell after spell as pleasure coursed through her body.

It was all so beautiful. The way air brushed against her skin, ravaging her like a knowing lover. Her back arched, eyes rolled back. A deep burning sensation filled her limbs as she struggled to find herself throughout the mind-numbing bliss.

She was at the brink when a hand landed on her shoulder, shaking her with might.

"Granger?" It said.

She moaned. "Oh, hello handsome."

It was a platinum-blonde haired guy with sharp gray eyes. They made her insides melt as she watched them scan over her, touching her neck gently. Lips parted, they looked so tender and beautiful.

Her finger reached up and touched them.

The gray eyes widened. "Granger? Can you hear me?"

Wait. There was something so recognized in that tone. She felt her mind awakened through the partial haze.

"Malfoy?"

His grip turned gentle against her shoulder. "Granger. What the hell are you doing here?"

"Forget. I want to forget. Forget with me."

She was suddenly wrapped up in his gaze. How did he do that? It made her thighs suddenly tense in heat. Oh, she needed him.

His lips were moving. He was speaking.

"What are you doing here? Do you know what this place is?" He grabbed her chin in his palm. "Granger. This is a place for lost souls. The last stop before the bottom. You don't belong here."

That was a lie.

"Oh, yes I do. Malfoy. You may be able to sit over there all sexy and smart and smell so damn good, but not me. I'm cursed," she slurred.

Malfoy casted a doubtful glance. "If either of us is cursed, I'd say it's me."

He started to grab hold of her hands. She fought against him.

"No. I'm staying," she cried. "I like it here."

Malfoy casted a wary glance. His hand tapped against his pocket where his wand rested. There was a long moment of pause, but he shook it out of his head.

"Come on, Granger. Let's get you home before something happens."

He lifted her with ease. Her body wasn't easy to control as it had been.

She rested against his chest as his arms looped below her knees and around her back. He cradled her closely as he walked toward a door, one she hadn't noticed mainly because it was in the complete dark. It swallowed them whole and led to a hazy room at the end of a long hallway.

Hermione cuddled in against his neck and breathed in his scent as he walked. "Mmm. You smell so nice."

"Thank you."

"You're so strong," she hummed in bliss as she felt his muscles tense around her.

He glanced down at her. "Um, thank you."

"I want to kiss you," she said through dreamy eyes. "I think you'll taste nice."

Malfoy lost his grip slightly. She dipped down against his lower abdomen. He blushed violently and pulled her back, close to his neck.

He let his pace quicken. "It's going to be alright, Granger. That's just the spell. I know it isn't you talking. The Granger I know would be hexing me right now."

"Let me kiss you." She pouted her lips.

"No."

She pulled closer against his neck, planting a gentle one against his pulse. Her tongue clung to his skin.

There was a distinct sigh of pleasure from him. She felt it through his chest.

"Ginny's been worried sick about you," he stated evenly. "She is looking all over the city, even called home."

Hermione was numb. It didn't register.

"I can't go home to them," she groaned. "I can't. I can't."

Malfoy furrowed his brow as they neared the room. The door opened enough to reveal a fireplace lit with green flame. A Floo.

"Why not?"

It was no longer bliss. There was no more ecstasy. All of the sadness crowded around her like walls crashing down in self-destruct.

Malfoy. He was near. Warm, living, need. She wanted that.

"Stay with me tonight," she begged.

His eyes momentarily widened, before returning to their concentration. He lowered her feet down to the floor. The grip around Hermione's waist never left. He held her upright as they walked to the flame.

His silence was aching.

Hermione reached up and grabbed hold of his collar, legs spread around his hips in a midair straddle.

"Stay. Stay with me. Don't leave me alone."

She cupped his cheeks. The soft flesh felt a fire to the numb cold in her soul.

"Granger." It was a struggled sound through his throat. "The last person you want in your bed is a man like me."

"I am not little Miss Perfect anymore. I am broken. I am cursed. I am desperate to find some shred of light in this world before I end it all and all I want is one night with a beating heart next to me so that I forget for a moment just how I got to this fucked up end!"

He didn't know what to do. Malfoy was silent. For once.

The light of his eyes trickled away as he beheld the witch in his grasp. She watched him back with wide eyes. They were so desperate on the edge of tears that he relented his will to fight against her.

He grabbed hold of Floo powder and threw it all around them in the open fireplace and the pair burst into green flame.

Hermione stumbled out of the fireplace, falling face first into the couch. Malfoy's long grasp was no match for the instant call of gravity on weakened knees.

Gently he grabbed hold of her arms and eased her up, checking that she wasn't hurt more clearly now that he was in better lighting of the flat. He heard hurried steps against the floor.

Ginny emerged with a stark pale face. "Hermione, thank Merlin! What happened?"

Hermione snapped up at the sound, adjusting her hair as professional as she could.

"Lights are colorful fairies, did you know? They tickle your skin and make everyone smell so good. Smell Malfoy. Ginny, honestly, smell him. How do they smell so good?"

Ginny casted an alarmed stared to Malfoy.

"I found her at Perdita," he answered.

The look on Ginny's face was indescribable.

She grabbed hold of Hermione's shoulders and forced her to look her in the eye, though it was difficult since Hermione's attention was shorter than that of a goldfish.

"Hermione listen to me. Are you listening?" She waited until her friend nodded. "Okay. What happened today? Did something happen? Cormac didn't force himself on you, right?"

Malfoy heightened with intensity as questions of Cormac McLaggen perched on the edge of his tongue. It took most of his willpower to not speak since it was clear that it wasn't a scum like Cormac that led Hermione to a place like Perdita. Only the worst of the worst, the lowest and the most forgotten were allowed to enter.

Hermione shook her head. "No. No. Oh, no. I can't tell you."

Ginny's jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"I can't tell you. You'll be so mad." Tears dripped onto Hermione's skin. "It wasn't my fault. He just came there and sat down and started saying I should come back and you're not important and then he just said it."

"Said what? Who are you talking about?"

Tears turned to sobs. "Harry! Harry talked about Fred. My Fred. I was an insult to his memory to forget him. He doesn't even remember that I killed Fred. I'm the reason he's dead. I'm the reason why George is forever half of himself and I'm just less than a shadow of who I should be. And I'm so sorry I killed your brother, Gin. I really am."

Hermione turned to a mess right on the floor. She sobbed uncontrollably, shaking and trembling.

Malfoy watched closely as Ginny bit back a twinge of sadness. She lowered herself to the floor in front of her friend and petted her hair gently.

"It isn't your fault," she said softly.

"Really? Because I wake up every morning hoping to switch places with him, so I don't have to live with this guilt anymore."


	6. Chapter 6

Draco Malfoy stood protectively over Hermione, trying to rise her for bed. It was what she needed.

Ginny hugged Hermione tightly as she rose up from the floor. Still weak from the spell of the end-place pub, Hermione's body trembled with exertion. He was close. She must have smelled him, because she instantly fell back into his arms and curled into his shirt. Tears and snot wiped across his chest. He wrapped an arm around her to hold her close, keep her from falling.

The red head blushed. "Sorry. It must be the effects of Perdita still on her."

Malfoy was already used to Granger's presence against him. "It's fine. Let's just get her to bed."

He wanted her to feel better, and there was no way she'd clear her mind without sleep.

Against him, Hermione swung an arm over his shoulder and embraced him tightly. "Thanks for staying with me. I knew you would."

Malfoy rolled his eyes at Ginny's expression.

"Cool it. She's high. She doesn't know what she's saying"

"Well it sounds like she invited you over," Ginny stated. "Again."

He forced a resigned look. "Come on. It's Granger."

"High or not, she isn't one to say things she doesn't mean. I've never heard her utter any kind of untruth."

He'd been fairly acquainted with Granger by the time they met in the pub. Ginny spent the last five months talking nonstop about her. It was hard not to feel bonded with a woman he'd learned so much about. Intimately about.

Ginny hadn't lied when she said Hermione was a mess. That much was clear.

Only the truly lost souls were able to step inside Perdita. They were the ones welcomed inside, ladled with spells that kept them blissfully ignorant of the world as it passed by them. Their fates sealed to nothingness. Those who've given up, Magic or Muggle world.

Granger was the last person who belonged inside a place like that. It was more fit for his type.

He'd been one to hide there after the war ended as his entire life crashed down around him. The high was nothing like the despair of falling back into realization that none of the problems were gone. They were reality.

"Stop it, Weasley." He growled.

Ginny lifted a teasing brow. "It's your choice. But she's going to remember tonight when she wakes. If you aren't there, she is going to be all embarrassed and not want to see you again."

"Why would she want to see me again?"

"Why wouldn't she? You saved her from who knows how much wasted time at Perdita and you're friends. We're all friends with the same people now. It'll be awkward if you rebuff her and still come round for tea."

He shook his head. "She'll be a spitting alley cat when she wakes up. Hex me into oblivion."

The sound of his voice roused Hermione from her dazed manner. She peeked up at him through fallen curls and then lowered her head back to his chest. Her mouth mumbled but stopped in place of gentle breaths.

"Just stay." Ginny crossed her arms. "It might help her, you know."

He grew frustrated. "How on Earth is that going to help her?"

"Tell her about how you know about Perdita," she offered. "It might help her understand how to overcome her grief."

Grief. He knew that well. He saw many die, though not close to him, they were still known to him. Death was an awful, biting, gory affair. It wasn't clean. It left a sickening clench in the gut. He vomited each and every time he saw the Unforgiveable curse used against another.

His own father used the spell on many Muggleborns and Purebloods alike. Whoever stood in their way.

It was worse when his former professor was murdered atop his dining room table at the Manor, a place where generations of Malfoy's dined together. Where he sat every meal with his own parents. A dead body with a face he'd known.

Each time he pictured that woman on his table, he saw the face of a friend. Sometimes Daphne. Blaise and his empty open eyes. Theo with a mouth ajar, crimson dripped from the corner.

Then the thought of Ginny and Hermione atop his dining room table stopped him in his tracks. They were so new to him, friends of recent run-ins, not childhood buddies. But the way his stomach lurched as he saw the blood as it dripped down from their noses chilled him to the bone.

He had to protect them now. Losing them would destroy everything he'd worked for.

"Granger?" He shook her in his arms.

She stirred slightly. Her head raised. "Hm?"

"Do you want me to stay?" His eyes flickered over to Ginny. The attention of her spotlight eyes heated the back of his neck. "Ginny will sleep with you, if you want."

Hermione was roused by the idea. "But she doesn't smell like you."

There was a snicker. It came from Ginny. He narrowed his eyes.

"What if I give her my shirt to wear?" He asked Granger, whose eyes were now lazily opened.

"What if Cormac comes back?"

His eyes shot to Ginny with question. This time she retreated away from his gaze.

"Stay with me, Draco. Please."

Ginny and Malfoy both gasped lightly. His first name.

The way it rolled off her lips so sweet, honey and nectar. Draco could have kissed her that moment, taste that sweet goodness that always came out of her whether she meant it or not, but he swallowed back his scorched desire for the witch. It was wrong. She was not herself.

Draco agreed to say with her. "But first, why doesn't Ginny help you get out of these clothes?"

The determination across her brow spoke to just how much Hermione was a Gryffindor. Without a thought, she raised the shirt above her head and threw it at the floor. The black boots were kicked across toward Ginny's door.

"Done." She smiled proudly.

In a bra and a pencil skirt with hair in a sexy teased mess. Definitely not Granger.

He looked to Ginny for help who uncrossed her arms and told hold of her friend's hands. She kept her tone as calm as possible as she led her into Hermione's bedroom.

Draco Malfoy stood at a dilemma that plagued him greatly.

He wasn't supposed to be in bed with a witch. Especially one that was so convoluted with illegal spells. It was wrong.

Then there was the reality that he never stayed the night before. It was always a one-night stand kind of deal, slip out at midnight, take a shower and pray that she didn't track him down. They never did. He knew the ones that looked for an escape, momentary distraction. It was what he was after, too.

But this witch was Hermione Granger. She wasn't one that associated with his type of people. She was the Gryffindor Princess, the Know-It-All, Miss Perfect. What would she want with him?

Did he cuddle with her? Should he make her breakfast? It could very well be normal to sleep however long and just part with a hug. He did not know. And it was that unknown that panicked him.

"She's ready," Ginny said as she stepped back out of the bedroom.

Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair. The night was completely unexpected.

He'd come over after work to find Blaise and Daphne waiting patiently to watch the Muggle movies Hermione suggested. He made sure to confirm with her that morning with an owl, just to be sure he hadn't assumed an invitation because he was near. So, the three waited until Ginny trudged in late hours wondering where Hermione was.

Then came the search over London. He'd sensed that Perdita was closer than it usually was. The magical spell brought it very close to Hermione and Ginny's flat that night. He'd doubted that Granger would ever enter or even be able to _see_ such an establishment, but nevertheless, he entered to soothe his mind. There she was.

"What the bloody hell is going on, Weasley?" He asked. "What's gotten into her?"

Ginny stiffened slightly. "It may come as a surprise to you, but not all of us ended up better after the war."

"I know," he growled.

Of all people, he knew.

"What's wrong with her?" He finally asked once the momentary anger subsided.

Ginny tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "She's been numb since the war. I think it's finally caught up with her."

"Is that what this is? Her guilt? Asking me to stay over because she thinks she's a bad person _like me_?" He started to pace. Anger came again. It wasn't at her. It wasn't Hermione's fault she was at a breaking point. He just hated to be her fallback.

"Christ, you're thick. It isn't about you, Malfoy. She isn't attaching to you because of your past. I'd say she's doing it in spite of everything." Ginny sighed. "This right here, this episode, yeah? That's just from seeing Harry. Can you imagine what she's like when Ron comes around or Merlin forbid George? She's useless for days. Cries until she's dehydrated. Anyone from the old days does this to her."

Malfoy shook his head. "No. That can't be right. She knows me from the old days and, well, you saw her."

"You don't remind her of Fred, Malfoy. That's all that matters."

"You know this is wrong. I shouldn't be here…"

Hermione stumbled into the doorway clutching the frame with all her might. She looked distraught. Her hair was pulled behind her head. Good thinking since she'd probably be sick the next day.

She looked back and forth at her friends for a long while as silence drifted between them. Neither Ginny or he were going to speak with her there. It was too, personal.

Besides, knowing Ginny's big mouth, she'd say something entirely inappropriate that would make Granger feel bad or him feel mortified.

"He'll be in in a minute, Mione. Just go wait for him," Ginny stated, not taking her eyes off Draco.

He felt the turn of Ginny go back to her more memorable years at Hogwarts where hexes were not in short supply.

Hermione nodded, and turned back around and hobbled into the room. She looked barely fit to stand. Draco stepped to assist then Ginny put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

"Malfoy, you've been in love with her for like seven years I'm told. Even if it wasn't true back then, I can see it is now just by the look on your face," she explained evenly. "Don't throw away a chance with her because you love to punish yourself. Only so much misery can come to one person. She's at that point, too. She's punishing herself for being happy just as you are. Now go in there and stop being a bloody stubborn fool."

Draco wanted to fight. He was ready to reach for his wand and dare her to say it again. There was no glint of satisfaction within her blue eyes. He searched for any inclination she was trying to hurt him, but there was none.

She was trying to help.

No matter. He couldn't hurt her. She'd shown in compassion when all other booed him in the streets and hexed him for fun. Ginny Weasley showed no bit of aggression toward him from the beginning, and she had gotten nestled under his skin in that same blasted hole where Blaise and Daphne and Theo all sat.

"Fine," he said, without much conviction.

It was a lie; he wanted to stay. He wanted Hermione to want him to stay.

He entered the bedroom in soft foot falls, closing the bedroom door behind him with a subtle latch.

The still of the room was awkward. He wasn't sure if Granger was awake. The size of her bed was narrower than his. Must be a double. That would make their proximity very close.

A lump surfaced at the back of his throat. What if she hated him when she woke?

There was a soft hum. It came from the figure on the bed, sprawled on her back chin tilted to the ceiling. She looked frozen. Draco suddenly lurched. His fingers held one ankle and shook it.

"Granger?" He whispered.

"Hm?" She answered back.

He saw the outline of her through shadow. The small rise of her breasts down to a plateau of stomach, thighs parted slightly, knees bent gently against the cushion of her comforter. The slick gray of moonlight filtered in through an open window. Frigid air blew through. It caressed her flesh. She gasped as it stung her face.

Draco shut the pane and walked back to the bed.

He felt her forehead. "Are you alright?"

Her head nodded under hand. It was good enough for him. He sat on the other side, unlaced his shoes with meticulous fingers and startled when he saw Granger beside him, watching him work.

It was ghostly to see her so sallow and sickly. The hue of the night gave height to her pain. Through her smiles and polite conversation, the sadness never showed in her eye. Tonight, it danced there in swirls.

"How do you do it?" She asked gently, touching his shoulder.

Most were not so familiar with him right away. He knew she was the same way. It was odd to feel her grasp at his body without thought as if she knew the comfort she'd find and welcomed herself to what he offered, even though he hadn't.

"Do what?"

He lined his shoes together. Socks in each one.

"Be so put together," she answered. Her voice was soft as a whisper. "Never lose your edge."

He smiled. That was easy. "I was raised to have a good front."

One moment she'd been next to him, the next she was gone. Behind him, she had her head laid against a pillow hand on the space next to her like an invite.

Malfoy sucked an intake of breath. He could do this. It didn't have to mean anything. She needed him. It wasn't his choice to leave.

But he knew what it meant if he stayed. Trouble. It would be more trouble for him in the long run.

"I won't hex you." Her voice flowed up from the bed.

Draco's brow knit together. "What?"

"I won't hex you. I promise."

"I'm not sure you'd be fast enough to hex me," he said with a smile. "Not in this condition, at least."

She sighed softly, directing her attention to the window. This allowed Draco to slide in next to her without feeling so uncomfortable. It was a personal moment after all, to spend a night in a witch's bed, and he was growing more uneasy as the scene felt relaxed. At least if she tried to hex him, it'd feel like always. How she responded to his presence.

Now, it was new territory.

He laid beneath scratchy cotton sheets in tight restraint. Stiff as a board. That was, until Hermione rolled over and placed her cheek against his shoulder. Her breath was sticky sweet when she exhaled. An arm swung over across his chest and held his side with a gentle squeeze.

She snuggled closer. Nose now close to his neck.

"This feels nice," she hummed happily.

Draco felt a strong blush rise to his face. He cleared his throat in attempt to rid the heat.

"Oh, well, it satisfies that basic human instinct for closeness if that's what you're referring," he said stiffly.

"Even statues need this," she quipped. "You are not immune."

He smirked. "Someone is coming out of their high. Welcome back to the world, Granger."

"You smell so nice. I want to crawl inside your shirt and live there where its warm and safe."

It wasn't his habit to startle when he was surprised. Honestly, most things didn't surprise him. People had their motives so clear and selfish or so dedicated and morally right, but they always did things that were unsurprising.

Hermione Granger, on the other hand, was a shock in he'd ever seen one.

"Perhaps not," he pondered aloud. "That spell must have been much stronger than I suspected."

"Don't you like this? A person, alive next to you. Beating pumping screaming life so that the dark void doesn't seem so bad?"

Whoa. She was dark.

He pulled her closer to his chest. "Close your eyes. In the morning, it won't seem so bad."

Warmth spread through his chest as she snuggled in against him, comfortable and breathing softly. She was content. Not scared. Not sick.

"Draco?"

There was that lovely sound. His name in her voice.

"What is it?" He asked with a sigh.

Merlin, he was a weak man.

"Will you be here when I wake?"

He took a moment. "Yes. Just go to sleep and I'll be here all night."


	7. Chapter 7

Draco woke with a start. His hand rested on the side of bed where Granger's body should have been. It was cold.

Effects of the spells from Perdita were known to have wild downfalls. Anything was possible to happen on the down swung, including another high. Draco sat upright and stalked out of the bedroom into the flat with precision. She wasn't there. He glanced into Ginny's room and too found it completely empty.

Then he heard it. A subtle drip. An echo.

He scanned the flat and found no source. The only place left was the en suite loo in her room. His worry propelled him to open the door without knocking, a situation that could have turned disastrous within seconds.

A single halo of light filtered in from the skylight above. The bright sun didn't reflect the true nature of the weather outside, a cloud-filled sky filled with rain. Still, it ignited the cold tile bathroom enough to allow him to see through to every corner.

Empty shower. Clear glass encased. Odd choice. No one at the sink or in front of the mirror.

But the drip. It was there. Draco stepped inside, catching the sight of red in the corner of his eye.

He spun on toe and saw Hermione, eyes closed head tilted back, in a watery tub stained bright red.

No! No, it couldn't be.

His hands trembled as he stumbled near and entered the water that had gone cold. The red surrounded his hands. A tub filled of her blood, her life.

"No, Granger. No. You can't do this," he cried.

Her body was slippery. He gripped her body hard and pulled her out, splashing crimson droplets as he went.

The coolness of her flesh raced his thoughts. Slack expression of her face tortured him. She hanged in his arms as a limp doll. He lowered it to the floor and poured over her to find the source of the bleeding. Wrists, forearms. Neck. Even between the toes, he checked every single one. There was nothing. No gash. No wicked awful slit in any artery.

Where was the blood? Why didn't he see it?

Draco dipped his fingers into the tight indent of her neck and paused. A steady pulse lived on. It pushed against his fingers with vigor.

"Granger! Can you hear me? Gra – Hermione, damn it. Hermione?" He shook her shoulders until her face finally moved.

It was the sudden rush of life as she catapulted forward, shivering and shaking, eyes wide in horror. Whimpers escaped her throat as she gasped for air. She was still soaked from the bath and ultimately naked on a tile floor. A soft purple lined her lips as she looked around, frantic almost.

Draco put his hands on her shoulders and steadied her the best he could. The shivers were violent trembles.

"Malfoy, I – I must have fallen asleep."

He let his shock show now. "I thought you were dead. Why the bloody hell would you cut yourself?"

Her eyebrows twisted in confusion. "Cut?"

"The tub is filled with your blood." His voice rose higher. The beating of his heart had yet to steady. "Did you want to die? I was right there. You could have woken me. Bloody Salazar, you're better than that. Better than a bloody end like some diva."

She was violently trembling now. Her entire body was blue. Goosebumps puckered her flesh. The hairs on her body raised at attention. It was a horrid sight to see her in such a way. Draco let his anger fall by the wayside, wrapped his arms around her and carried her back to the bed, certain to wrap her in layers of sheets and blankets.

Breath returned to normal, but it wasn't helping. A night in a tub was close to hypothermia. Not warming her right away was a big mistake.

"Damn it." He groaned.

Granger stared at the ceiling with lifeless eyes as her body quaked. It was out of her control. She needed to get warm.

Draco slid out of his shirt, reminding himself of the life or death situation that was there. He couldn't very well turn his back and let her die. He climbed into bed, again, next to her.

"Come here," he said.

She allowed herself to be pulled closer and sheets pulled away, even though it was clear through her face that she was unsure.

He bit back his own need. There was a beautiful witch pressed up against his bare chest with nothing on. It was clear that both were uncertain whether it should happen.

He tried to sound as professional as possible. "This will warm you quicker. Press against me. Your blood will start to flow soon enough."

There was no sound of resistance. It was memory of last night as she folded herself into the spaces that she fit against him like it was customary.

A year before and he would have given anything to be in that tender moment of need with her. Now, he knew it was just temptation. A fate that he couldn't consider. It was more important to stay away from any moment of closeness with her lest he find himself unnaturally attached to the witch and turn his life into one shitshow after the next.

When he told Daphne…no. If. A big if. If he told Daphne, he'd skip over the parts that nearly had him in sobs, such as finding Hermione in a supposed tub of blood after a terrible night of grief. It was obvious that she was distraught. That's why he agreed to stay, but he should have known better. Falling asleep beside her hadn't seemed so odd, since it was well after one when they finally laid in bed and he was a notorious light sleeper. How he had slept through anything, especially her filling the bathtub was beyond him.

Hermione breathed easier beside him. He felt a sense of relief, too, since she was alive and well near him. As long as he was with her, she couldn't do anything impulsive like a bloody Gryffindor and off herself in the night without his notice.

She looked up at him with warm eyes, now live with heat. "It wasn't blood."

"What?"

"It wasn't blood," she said. "I used a bath bomb last night. It turned the water colors with fragrance. Muggle thing."

Her voice was low, ashamed at the end of it. He sensed her embarrassment over the entire ordeal.

"I can understand why you think I'd do that. It's not like I haven't ever considered. Especially after last night."

Draco cleared his throat. "Right."

"I'm fine," she said.

"You sure about that?" He glanced at her sharply, brow cocked. "It doesn't seem like you're fine, Granger. You're in bed with me, for one."

Hermione smirked. "Now _that's_ something odd to complain about."

"I'm just saying it's not typical for a girl like you to be with someone like me. Or, more decidedly, for you to be here with me," he reasoned. "Odd, isn't it? Former Death-Eater and War Heroine friends at last. It's ridiculous. Can you imagine what Potter'd say if he saw you right now."

Fighting against his hold, Hermione raised up above him. The chill of her skin had gone. She wasn't blue anymore. Instead she was given her peach complexion back. It was beautiful in the lazy light of cloudy skies. A few thick curls hanged down near her face fallen from a messy knot at the back of her head.

She gazed down at him with the densest pair of eyes. They examined each aspect of his face starting at his hairline, down to the straight bridge of his nose, round his piercing eyes taking time to come closer as their gazes locked, and concluded at his pink lips, parted for breath.

A pair of dainty fingers ran against his bottom lip. "Is that what you're so worried about?"

Worried? He wasn't worried. He was already lost in the moment. Lost in her touch like he never wanted to leave it.

Merlin. His life was on fire. In his hand, the very matches that sparked it.

"I'm not scared," he breathed.

"Then why do you react every time I move?"

Suddenly a light blazed in his eyes. "That's not fear."

A shy smile took hold of her lips. She looked away from him, trying to swallow it back.

"It's protection, isn't it? You move when I do, align yourself to be there when I need you, keep a watchful eye so I don't do anything stupid, stay with me at night so that you know I'm safe." It wasn't a question. She knew just how he acted and why. "I recognize it."

Draco got hot around the neck. His throat went all dry, no matter how much he swallowed, it wouldn't reanimate to life. More and more he tried to exercise control over his body, the less it responded. The sudden rise in his pants highlighted that further. A tent of fabric pitched up shop right next to Hermione's leg. It was impossible for her not to know.

He suddenly hopped out a bed hastily grabbing his shirt and shoes.

"I've got to go," he announced with a swallowed snarl.

She watched him from the bed, wrapped sheet around her bare chest and just nodded.

Draco fled the flat but didn't go home. He couldn't. There was only one place that would help him sort his thoughts.

The green flames transported him to an upscale flat on the magical side of London. Windows showed the height of the city of tall buildings of steel gray and a shimmering ward over top of Diagon Alley just below. Muggle cars polluted the streets near. Thick fumes rose up through the foggy air, adding to the smog that choked the city in constant cloud.

The open fireplace entered directly to an open two story flat with floor to ceiling windows. A giant candle chandelier ignited when Draco stepped forward.

Faint giggling from beneath a fur draped across the three-seater lounge gave a distinct sign to what exactly was happening.

He didn't have time to oblige.

"Blaise! Get your pants on."

There was a sudden gasp. A dark head popped out from below the shimmering orange fur.

"Hey! You look like shit. When you'd get here?"

Draco smirked. "Long enough to know you're not doing it right."

Blaise narrowed his eyes. "I'll not take my advice from someone who hasn't been laid since Hogwarts."

There was shuffling beneath the fur and Blaise tucked himself back under for a moment whispering, "No. Give me those. Yes. Ah, it's alright. It's just Malfoy."

It took a moment before Blaise emerged clad in cotton boxers. They were littered with dancing pickles with wings. Draco raised an eyebrow as his friend came closer.

Blaise shrugged. "Give me a break. Not everything has to be silk panties."

"What kind of life is worth living if your bits can't be spoiled?" Draco smirked.

They shared a laugh. Blaise swatted his back rested against his shoulder. It was just like old times. They'd been friends since their parents were associated within the same circles. Blaise came to the Manor often when his mother was out on another date. They played endlessly on the grounds.

He'd seen Blaise Zabini in just about every situation imaginable and still loved the guy even though the war left Draco with little emotional capacity for others.

Lucius Malfoy was taken away to Azkaban once the Dark Lord was killed. Draco was soon to go after him, if it hadn't been for Potter and Granger. His mother nearly went to Azkaban, too, but was saved by Potter.

The thought of his mother rotting away in the dank walls that had driven his aunt and uncle stark raving mad gave Draco Malfoy a new lease on life. One that motivated him through all the shit and slander and sneering from the public, even when the days felt hard and impossible to overcome, Draco kept on protecting the people near him.

He couldn't lose anyone else. It would be the end of his sanity.

"What happened last night?" Blaise questioned. "Gin sent me an owl late and said you found Granger. What happened?"

Draco rubbed his face. "A lot."

His friend was roused out of his calm. Interest silently leeched through his demeanor. Blaise brought his ear closer.

"Really? And just what does that entail?"

He ignored the question. "I need you and Daphne to do something for me."

"You know how favors go," Blaise smirked. It was clear that he wanted information. That was the way of a Slytherin after all. They lived on knowledge, especially privy information.

Draco tightened his lips. It was not for him to reveal Granger's lapse to others.

"I need you guys to ask Granger about Cormac McLaggen. You remember him? Granger said some things about him that Ginny won't explain. I think he might have hurt Granger," he explained.

Blaise's eyebrows leapt high. "Hurt her how?"

He felt his eyes turned dark at the thought of what the slimey man would do to Hermione, but the intentions of a man aren't too hard to guess. "Find out. Take Daphne and don't leave Granger alone without someone there at the flat."

"She's got a roommate, you know."

"Ginny is out of town for a week with the Harpies. Don't you pay attention?"

It was a clear known fact that Blaise absolutely paid close attention. The fact was just troubling that he was pretending not to know why. Draco knew Blaise's method, and soon realized that his friend was probing for information.

Blaise Zabini had an uncanny to sniff out secrets like a hound.

Draco ran his fingers through his hair. The action widened Blaise's black pupils.

"Whoa. Something happened with Granger." There was a giddiness in his voice. "Oh, Merlin. Tell me you finally poured out your heart and she's totally in love. Go on. Tell me."

He shook off his friend. "You're mental."

"You're not denying!" Blaise exclaimed.

"No. No way anything happened with Granger, yeah?"

Blaise stifled a gasp behind his fist. "Oh, my. It was intense. You can't even look at me now. Oh, lookie here. My friend, the blush. Here he comes. Oh dear. It's a big one. Got something you'd like to confess there Malfoy?"

Draco held his face in his hands and groaned, "Ugh. I need to talk to Daphne."

"Ready to call it all off, huh?"

"Shut up, Blaise." Draco snarled.


	8. Chapter 8

**Hermione entered her office** on Friday with an entire day's work to make up along with the many months' worth that her predecessor left like a gleaming pile of headaches for her to dive in to, per the job description.

None of it mattered. She savored the smell of fresh ink wells as she lined them neatly on her desk. Fresh parchment unfurled as her quill started to scratch through memos to employees beneath her. It was going to be good. By Merlin, she'd force it to be.

One employee was noted as behaving inappropriately toward a Muggle parent after responding to an accidental use of magic by a Muggleborn.

Gary was brought to her office with an attitude not fit of his position.

"They're just Muggles. It's not like they'll remember," he stated. His apparent reasoning for the encounter being that since they had to Obliviate the Muggle's memory, the treatment didn't matter. "I made sure I covered our ass."

Hermione crossed her legs. The audacity of her inferiors was the result of years under Dokas' bigoted leadership. It stood to reason that he was the reason no women were in highly ranked positions either.

"Our asses are hardly covered," she said in the firmest voice she could manage. "This is wild abuse of your position, not to mention discomfort to your coworkers! It is not a situation to scoff at."

The man stood in dignified air with a chin still raised high above her own. "That newbie isn't used to what it's like dealing with _them._ '

"Them?" The anger prickled her skin. "Clarify that for me."

"I mean no offence. I know you're one of them, but those Muggles are not normal. They are primitive beings. Sometimes they require the reminder," he said with raised hands.

As if any of his statement was an indication of remorse. It was more a confession of his own biased view.

She jotted down notes of the interaction as they progressed. It was very clear that he did not deny the encounter. "Okay, Mr. Bedard. Having completed the interview, you should expect a summons from the Wizengamot sometime next week. Have a good day."

The man stood taken aback. "You're reporting this? Over a silly display of magic."

"Magic meant to intimidate a Muggle into compliance. It is gross negligence and I am required to report all findings to my own superiors for further investigation," she replies in the bland tone of rehearsed lines she knew by heart.

"Dokas never cared. So long as the job was done, we were left to our business." He was clearly not pleased. "You'd do much better here if you just go along with how things are. These guys aren't used to being told what to do by a woman. Even if you are the Golden Girl. We have a way of doing things around here."

He was menacing as he leaned over her desk toward her face. A stern sneer chased away his curved lip to a horrid tension.

Hermione mirrored back her own threatening glare. "You'd do well to remember with whom you speak. I am within my power to remove you from your post and assign you to another department, or even fire you for this very incidence. I'd check yourself before the next time you come in here. That'll be all."

She left him to his leave. When it didn't happen quick enough, her wand swung open her door and forced her assistant to the doorway. He greeted her stiffly, not liking the disturbance in his boring day of crosswords and reading Witch Weekly.

"Right this way, Gary."

The man grumbled his anger. "She's got another thing coming if she thinks I'm going to listen to anything she's got to say."

Her assistant rolled his eyes and shooed the man away.

Paperwork called Hermione's attention back to the stacks of paper. She fingered the next envelope on the pile with a sigh. It would never be done at the rate she went.

Dokas was a royal bastard for what he'd done to the department.

She was ignorant of the entire world until the shuffling of feet outside the door caught her attention. The clock showed strict noon. Lunch break. Her appetite was suppressed by the amount of work she still needed to proceed with, already set on staying late within the night to make a dent.

It was her second set of follow up requests when a knock at her office stirred her.

"Come in," she called out.

A visit from Gary was surely warranted once he'd calmed down from his superior ego. She guessed it was his walk of shame back to the boss' office to beg for forgiveness. Skirt smoothed, hair tamed back behind her shoulders with a satisfied smile on her face.

Oh, she was going to enjoy it.

"Hey there, girl." Blaise entered the room in a creamy tan suit, white shirt and silver tie that hanged freely down by his belt buckle. "Thought you could use a friend for lunch."

She gasped with surprise. "Blaise? What on Earth are you doing at the Ministry?"

It was relief to see his teasing smile in the depressing air of her office.

"You know the Ministry can't keep to themselves. I've always got to come and quench their curiosity with our work," he stated. The false sense of irritation failed on Hermione. The dark brown of his eyes lifted as he beheld his friend behind her overworked desk. "Got time for lunch?"

"Not usually, but I'm extremely suggestable today."

Blaise summoned a basket of sandwiches and crisps. It splayed out across her desk on pristine china of painted elephants and dancing monkeys. Although she lifted a brow at the un-modern choice of flatware, her mouth remained silent.

Lunch with another sounded better than any more time alone. Without Ginny in the flat to fill the void, vulnerability roared through the courage. She didn't want to be anymore lonely.

Blaise snorted as she tucked in to the lunch. "You should consider work in the private sector. Wouldn't be squeezed into this sorry excuse for an office."

"It is tempting, given the state of this department," she answered.

The bag of crisps crinkled as she handled the plastic like a screeching child. The harder she tried to open it, the more the horrid noise echoed through the room. She murmured a spell and the bag burst open.

Saltiness of the crisp greeted her tongue in delirious pleasure. One little splurge.

"You should consider it." Bits of shredded lettuce fell out of his stuffed sandwich. He grimaced but continued eating. His napkin levitated on its own, collecting each piece of crisp lettuce and vanished the evidence with a soft crack. "They have some really great stuff out there."

The smoked roast beef burst with heavenly flavor. Hermione forced her eyes to remained forward and not roll back in pleasure at the sheer bliss that the meat gave. She knew Blaise came from money. His lunch was complete proof. Such elegant meat for a simple lunch was a waste on her. It was meant for lovely dinners of Ministry higher ups, not lowly department heads in complete chaos.

Meals were few and far between for Hermione. Ginny's absence forced a diet of easy selections with little effort, since so much preparation for only herself didn't sit well in her stomach. Without her best friend and sister, everything felt a splurge.

Hermione shrugged. "I joined the Ministry to help rebuild. War ruined so much, lost so much stability for everyone. I like it here, too. They help people. That's the main priority here, to be of service. It's just all the other stuff that comes with the job that isn't to my liking."

"The Ministry doesn't help as much as they think they do. All the backroom action that happens in this place? People in power will always control their puppets in these offices. Nothing changes. Not with Voldemort. Not now."

There was the fact that he was a Slytherin that convinced Hermione to consider his words as truths. Despite how much she detested the cliques that ran the Ministry, it didn't seem corrupt. All governments ruled like that. Wealthy elites weaseled their way to power whether the masses knew it or not.

"Connection is currency," she agreed.

A sparkle lit the corners of his eyes. "Precisely."

"Speaking of connection, do you somebody in your life? A betrothed perhaps? I know you Purebloods love that kind of thing."

Mouth full of bread, Blaise's chuckle was delayed. His hands rose in the air. "That's a good one. Can you imagine me, Blaise, lord of Pureblood tradition? Merlin, no. I've got a few that I see."

Hermione raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Only a few? A bit behind on your monthly quota?"

A split moment of unguarded emotion crossed his face twisted her confidence. Had she just insulted him? Slytherins insulted so easily with very little understanding of the boundaries they set. Malfoy was one with lines all over in a pattern that looked a maze with no end. But Blaise Zabini seemed more relaxed than that.

Hermione chastised herself for feeling so comfortable to tease. They weren't that good of friends. She opened her mouth to apologize, but he beat her too it with unexpected mirth.

"You know, never thought I'd say this about the Know-It-All. You're actually pretty funny. Shame we didn't know each other at Hogwarts," he stated just as plain as day. It was innocent enough, but it struck Hermione as surprising. She doubted even Draco Malfoy would believe that. "That mouth would have made you a fitting Slytherin."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"Why not? You can take on Malfoy any day of the week. And he's about as Slytherin as they come."

Hermione snorted. "I think my feelings on blood purity and equal rights for magical creatures might have sullied my reputation as a Slytherin. Oh, yeah. And I'm a Muggleborn. Can you imagine Professor Snape rolling out the red carpet for the likes of me?"

That made Blaise roll his eyes.

"It is no secret that Snape had a thing about Gryffindor. Plus, you beat out his own house for highest marks in class. Being a stuffy Know-It-All didn't help much. Snape had an ego the size of a dragon and didn't like anyone knowing just as much as him."

The war exposed so much more about Severus Snape that she ever learned in her time at Hogwarts, possibly because the man kept himself locked tight as a vault. There was the odd similarity between Professor Snape and Malfoy.

Blaise lowered the remains of his sandwich to his plate. The charmed napkin flew over and disposed of the remnants away quickly. He raised a handkerchief to pat his thick brown lips. He spent another minute as he adjusted his suit, straightened his already straight tie and touched his hair.

He glanced up at her, smirked at her dedicated attention. A thread of wild assumptions caught wind in her mind. She looked away quickly, blushing fiercely.

Unable to contain his smile, Blaise lifted his wand. A simple tap to the woven basket lid.

The picnic basket produced two small tea cakes, filled with raspberries and cream. It was one of the most heavenly things Hermione had ever tasted. She savored each bite much to Blaise's amusement. They were prepared by elves at the Manor, which made the bite turn to dust in her mouth.

"Malfoy Manor?" She dropped the fork to her desk.

The rest of the meal didn't taste so well. She pushed the plate away with the sudden loss of appetite. Blaise's eyes watched the china plate slide close to him with unfinished food atop.

He swallowed his bite. "Is there something wrong?"

A sweat came to her hands like a flood. She rubbed them down the length of her skirt, trying to rid herself of the sweltering feeling that started to boil through her insides as vomit rested just at the nape of her throat, ready to burst.

She tried to gain control with some deep breaths, but even then, it wasn't working.

"No. Of course not. My eyes must've been bigger than my stomach," she supplied. Her tone sounded stilted. Such a viable lie.

It was obvious that Blaise's suspicions were raised, but he kept his mouth clamped around his cake. He stared at his companion with sharp examination as she did her best to avoid it.

Malfoy Manor. One of the worst places she'd ever been in her life where Bellatrix Lestrange, Malfoy's deranged aunt, tortured her to near exhaustion. It was terrifying to be at the witch's mercy. However, what rang in her ears wasn't the sound of her own screams as they echoed throughout the empty manor house.

His voice. It was _his_ voice as he screamed her name in what little attempt to save her there was. Over and over he screamed her name, begged to be in her place. The bars of the dungeon rattled as he thrashed against them with all his might.

Just the thought of him trying to the threat of death to save her scratched down the surface of her heart like a bleeding, gushing wound. His memory, his valor. He never stopped trying.

Even after they escaped Malfoy Manor, he kept close to her side. He stared at her wound, gently kissing over the letters that Hermione now bared like an awful reminder of all she'd lost.

Hermione snapped at attention when Blaise cleared his throat, her reverie broken.

Plates and cutlery flew back into their places in the basket. They clinked together slightly. She gave a sad smile. It'd been a nice time with a friend, especially since he came to her and actually brought the food. She'd gone and ruined it by being so consumed with herself.

She grabbed hold of his hand. "Thanks, Blaise. This was nice. I can't remember the last time I ate lunch at work."

Her friendly squeeze was met back with another. "You should. It can make the days not seem so bad."

He flashed a knowing look that seeped into her body.

"You always know what to say?" She teased.

"Most of the time."

Hermione laughed. "So Slytherin." She paused and then asked, "Do you want to come over tonight and watch that movie? I still think it'll help you with your mom."

He winced at the very mention of anything werewolf or mate related, but he agreed to come over after work as long as she agreed to eat supper. Ginny's absence meant she usually survived off tea and bits of veggies left in their fridge. But another to cook for let her reinvigorated to get back to the kitchen.

She set out to work on a meal as soon as she got home, not even bothering to change out of her work attire including her pumps.

She'd stopped at a local market on the way home for the ingredients and set to work making a worthy pasta that an Italian would eat. It was difficult to make the homemade noodles. Her hands cramped by the end of the entire process. She happily threw them into a boiling pot of salted water and set about finishing the rest of her dish when the Floo turned to green flame and a being stepped through.

"You're early," she called from the stovetop. She pinched her noodles to check their progress. "I hope you aren't an expert on pasta because it might be a disappointing evening for us if so."

She exited the kitchen and audibly gasped as it was not Blaise Zabini in the room, but Draco Malfoy.

He was dressed in casual slacks and a pale blue shirt, buttoned up minus one single button at the top that was left open. Her pulse jumped to new heights to find him in her flat. Her knees weakened when the scent of his cologne reached her nose.

It was just as she remembered.

Malfoy looked surprised. "I didn't mean to interrupt. Just thought I'd stop by."

His Adam's apple bobbed. The pale flesh protruded from his neck as a heat flared across her chest. She felt her body respond to his emergence as sudden as a Lust Potion. Every sensation of her clothing caressed her into arousal toward the new guest, new _friend_. A friend that didn't suspect a thing.

She reigned her obvious attraction by crossing her arms across her chest, the perky nature of her nipples now hidden. Though she couldn't help but move her arms slightly against the stretching need of her flesh. How nice it'd feel with his lips against them.

Whoa. No.

Hermione cleared her throat and forced a smile. "I'm just making supper."

Draco shoved his hands deep into his pockets. Subtly, he glanced around the room and quieted his breath.

"Are you on a date?"

A snort flew out of her nose before she realized it. It took a long blush to rid the embarrassment.

"Right. After this week, I think you'd know there is no such wizard lining up for this ride." Hermione stepped back into the kitchen and he followed, though hesitant. "It's just for Blaise. We're watching that movie I told you about. He brought lunch so I had to make supper."

He looked on edge with his hands shoved into his pockets, but visibly relaxed when she revealed it was only for Blaise. Hermione could have sworn it was relief.

"You're welcome to join us," she offered with a smile. "I mean, if you don't have other plans."

"I don't want to intrude."

Just then the Floo turned green again and produced Blaise, still sporting the same stylish suit as before, and a casually dressed Daphne with her hair in a crown of braids. She looked positively beautiful in her baggy jumper and tight leggings.

Daphne greeted Hermione with an encompassing hug. "Hope you don't mind. I had a feeling that Blaise was keeping secrets when he suddenly had plans."

It was clear by her scent that Daphne was a Healer: disinfectant and bleach.

Hermione's eyes watered as they pulled away. "Oh, I'm sorry. Should've just invited everyone over, shouldn't I?"

"That's alright. We're all here now." The girl smiled at her friend and then turned her attention to the kitchen. "Need any help? I'm useless in the kitchen. But I can just stand there and get in your way."

"What's cooking?" Blaise asked.

Malfoy was suddenly close to Hermione. A finger brushed against the small of her back and sent tingles shooting up her spine.

"Pasta," he answered.

Blaise gave a satisfied smirk. "Aw. For me? Don't tell me you've got a crush now. I can't blame you. A little charm gets to everyone eventually. One day I'll wear down Daphne."

"When dragons speak!" Daphne exclaimed.

"Don't tempt me, witch. I can whip up something to get a dragon rambling on like an old woman. Just say the word."

"To make dragons talk? You're mad."

Blaise flashed a smile. "Mad for you, love."

A bubbling pot interrupted the banter. Hermione swore under her breath. White foam struggled to breach the crest of the pot, but it was close. Flame flickered low, and the pot raised away from the heat simmered the out of control water.

Malfoy stepped near and peered down to the noodles below. "Saved it just in time."

He aided her in adding the noodles to the cream sauce flecked with minced garlic and red pepper flakes. She handed him a wooden spoon. The length of his fingers gripped up the hilt of the utensil, not much different than he gripped his wand. He set to work in a way that spoke for his ability, and thus didn't require her direction.

Hermione popped in the clams with the sauce, topped with parsley chiffonade, and declared the dish complete. Malfoy stirred as she set out flatware for her guests. When she turned around the teapot was on the stove, clicked to high.

Out of nowhere appeared four teacups, one on its way to the floor from a clumsy meeting with her elbow. She yelped out in shock and then again when a pair of pale hands presented it back, intact. Malfoy smirked as she eyed him with a sudden amazement.

Git. He liked when people were impressed. It raised his ego. She set his mouth in a firm line and reached for the cup.

The touch of their skin ignited the memory of their night together surged like a riptide through her veins. She felt the zap between them. Her startled gaze leapt up to his, and he shared the same intensity.

The riptide traveled to the apex of her thighs in a creamy drip down to her panties. A blush colored her cheeks throughout the meal as she'd notice his gaze more than once, or the subtle way he sucked noodles from his fork, or just the way his jaw was defined in a sharp line. It made her tremble the way he sighed.

Eyes turn to her; she instantly her thighs close.

Her eyes grew wide. "I'm sorry. I must have dazed. What were we talking about?"

"Daphne asked if you were seeing anyone," Malfoy remarked with a swallowed smile. He'd caught her gaze. Dropping her wine glass to table when they met only proved just how dazed she'd been.

Hermione swallowed a gulp of wine. "Oh, no. Gin's the one who dates. Casually."

"Casually?" Daphne asked.

Blaise had a much hungrier look. "Casually, you say."

"Who does she see? She's never mentioned anyone to me!"

"Until recently, she was casually, very casually, seeing Cormac McLaggen. You remember him? He was a Gryffindor so probably not." Her tone was playful. Hermione made sure of that. "Anyway, he didn't like that you all started hanging together. Ginny said he threw a royal hissy fit. Thankfully he's let her go."

The mention of Cormac caught Draco's attention. He scooted closer to the edge of his seat with great interest, eyes only pupils under the shining orb lights. Hermione couldn't look away. The difference of his pale gray to the dense black highlighted the beast beneath. The depths of his power, his need, the absolute control he exercised over his life in complete precision turned Hermione's vision of him to an unbridled lover with endless passion, rough yet passion filled in her embrace.

She clenched her thighs harder. Hopefully she didn't leak onto the floor.

"You and him get on, then?" Blaise asked before shoving another mouthful of delicious pasta into his mouth. Out of everyone, he enjoyed the pasta the most. Said it reminded him of his grandmother's own recipe. It was a load, she told him so, but the effort was appreciated.

"Not at all," she answered with a subtle snarl. "He's a disgusting excuse of a wizard and a filthy man."

A look of concern washed over Daphne. "Is he awful to Ginny?"

Hermione snorted. Of all the people Cormac was disgusting to, Ginny was the last. She didn't know why. Perhaps it was because Ginny only wanted the physical aspect of the relationship. Nothing else mattered.

"Despite as using her as an excuse to come here and harass me, no." She sighed. "They got on amazingly well."

"Harass? In what way?" Malfoy finally added.

Why did it always happen to her? She let the most undignified get under her skin and ruin her entire night like they deserved the thought. They sucked the life out of everything.

She shook her head. "Ah. What's it matter? Gone now, isn't he?"

The topic was dropped, and the night resumed on scheduled. There was only time for two of the Twilight movies, much to Blaise's disappointment because he still had questions. They made plans for another night and then another when Daphne suddenly remembered it was the date of her sister's engagement party and promptly rescheduled between their insanely intense work schedules.

Hermione watched them all leave through the Floo before she slipped out of her clothes and returned to her bed in the welcoming embrace of the nude. She snuggled below her sheets, cool and comfy, and fell to sleep that night without a single aching thought of a beautiful red-hair twin.


End file.
